


L'Estate Dell'Amore

by corxcordium



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom
Genre: Chance Meeting, Cute, Cute Timothée Chalamet, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Getting to Know Each Other, Inspired by Call Me By Your Name, Italian Character(s), Italy, Light Angst, Love, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Secret Relationship, Smut, Songwriting, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform, holiday romance, meet cute, romantic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corxcordium/pseuds/corxcordium
Summary: Timothée and Freya both find themselves somewhere in Northern Italy for the summer. Timothée is relaxing with old colleagues in between stressful work projects and Freya is attempting to reignite her creative spark and finally begin writing again. One dance with a stranger on the streets of Crema has the possibility to merge their individual stories into a joyful, and sometimes heartbreaking, winding tale of true love.L’Estate Dell’Amore is a story of mutual self discovery and the wonders that can arise from finding friendship and love in the most unexpected of places.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Original Character(s), Timothée Chalamet/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue

Some people are born with an innate feeling of belonging, and others search for it their entire lives. Be it belonging to a person, a place, a movement, or a moment in time, the desire to belong is at the centre of what it means to be human.

It is this desire that has led me to the empty flat in northern Italy that I currently find myself in. Art Deco paintings hang on the walls of the small studio apartment just off the Piazza Del Duomo in the centre of Crema. The perfect spot for a summer of reflection and self revelation. 

Call it divine intervention, fate, or perhaps a misguided sense of self, but these four walls will become my home for the next four weeks. For what is a better backdrop to finding oneself than the beautiful scenes of the Italian countryside?

*****  
  


The heat is the first thing I noticed. The sticky air hit my body the instant I stepped foot from the plane and descended the steps to my summer of self discovery. Preoccupied with the hustle and bustle of the airport, the gravity of the situation and my arrival did not fully settle until I found myself in the taxi. Zooming through the metropolitan cityscape before eventually working our way through countryside scenes that reminded me of my youth, minus the heat that is.

With the glorious Italian sun above head, one could believe that the worries of the world could simply melt away into oblivion. However naive, this was my exact thought as the taxi pulled to a stop.

"Mi scusi" the driver professed, "this is as close as I can drive".

While the flat I had chosen was in a perfect location for what I wished to achieve in this trip, I must admit I had not thought through the logistics of my arrival. Found in the centre of Crema, I would have to embark on the rest of my journey on foot. Thankfully I had significantly under packed so the journey was not too arduous.

The bustling streets of Crema are exactly as I imagined them. Teaming with life and buzzing with a strong air of European living. Elderly couples sitting in the sun sipping on espressos, young children running through the Piazza and teenagers milling in the darker corners, budding romance and blossoming friendships occurring all around me.

Life. That's what I was witnessing. Pure, unadulterated and joyous life. If any strife existed in the lives of those filling this Piazza no one would be any the wiser. It was at that moment, standing still in the streets of Crema, that I knew I had made the right decision.

Embarking on this trip had not been without its struggles. When you read about women going on solo trips abroad to ‘find themselves’ you imagine middle aged, past their prime, and lonely. Whereas I only fit one of these characteristics.

I cannot deny that I have been lonely in recent years. But I am, at least according to others, well within my prime, my ‘best years’ so they say. But if that is the case then why has my life already reached the level of monotony of an 83 year old widower? But that will all end with this trip. I hope. The next two weeks will change that for me. I hope.

There had been many driving forces for my choosing Italy as the location for my hopefully epiphany. The weather, the scenery, the music, the beautiful language, the cities that are both steeped in rich history from ancient times and modern life. But in truth it was the writings of one book, ‘Call Me By Your Name’. Aciman had painted the most delectable picture of the perfect Italian summer while telling the story of a young man's journey of self discovery. Exactly the journey I was hoping to embark on, so what better location than Northern Italy?

  
  



	2. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Meet-Cute’: an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

My first evening in Crema passed by in a blur. Between unpacking, locating a corner shop to buy essentials and attempting to gain my bearings in the winding backstreets, I find myself lacking the energy to truly explore my new surroundings. So, with a glass of semi-chilled white wine, I spent my first evening perched on my minuscule balcony, legs dangling in the wind as I sat back and simply observed the world move below me.

My first full day however, was not so relaxed. I woke early with the intention of exploring the city that so inspired this trip. Beginning the day was like something out of a dream, sitting on the piazza with an espresso and fresh cannoli truly seemed like the most perfect of morning routines. A routine I am sure I will soon settle into and miss dearly when my time to vacate this small slice of heaven comes.

My first port of call for the day was to rent the bicycle that would become my true companion on this trip. And once that was achieved, I intended amble around Crema, stopping frequently to take in my extraordinary surroundings.

I had only one firm plan in place for my entire stay in Crema, I was to visit Milan towards the end of the trip to see Jack Savoretti play at Fabrique Milano. Aside from this, I intended to let the trip go where it will. Put my time firmly into the hands of fate and simply sit back and enjoy the once in a lifetime experience of simultaneously being both truly lost and yet wholly found in a foreign land.

As I cycled around my new home I marvelled in the simple beauty of it all. Unsure of whether it was due to the relaxed European sensibility, or just the magic of the place rubbing off on its inhabitants, an innate sense of calm washed over me as I tried to blend in to those around me.

Numerous times throughout my day did I have to stop myself from purchasing every beautiful thing I came upon, reminding myself that this was not a brief stop on an otherwise longer trip. But that I in fact had nearly a month to explore these quaint and cobbled streets.

Not wanting to overwhelm myself on the first day, and as the daylight slowly fades making way for dusk to settle upon the city I am already falling deeply in love with, I cycle back to the apartment. After spending the previous night holed up in the safety of my own temporary home, tonight I will explore what nightlife Crema has to offer, starting first with something to eat. And possibly to drink, I am after all on holiday.  
  


*****

There’s a level of anonymity that one can only truly experience when alone in a foreign place. No friends lurking around the corner ready to capture your drunken moments for all your loved ones to see and share on social media.

Here, in the centre of crema, I feel no pressures, societal or otherwise. Here, I am truly free, for perhaps the very first time. With my arms raised above my head, and my eyes closed I let myself get lost in my new surroundings.

The piazza is teaming with life, every corner filled with locals and tourists alike. The air is buzzing with an energy that is both intense and wholly relaxed, and it is this atmosphere that makes it easy to forget that one is alone. Maybe that’s the sheer power and magic of northern Italy after the sun has set over the Duomo?

Music and laughter filled the piazza, flowing from various bars and restaurants that are open into the late hours as the people of Crema drift from one to another. I had settled in at Caffè Marini hours earlier for my first evening in Italy. An appetiser and a number of cocktails later and here I am, dancing to the distant hum of music from inside the Caffé. I am not alone in my dancing. I joined a group of people of all ages swaying, drinks in hand and heads thrown back as they to lose themselves in the magic.

It was this relaxed state that I blame for not being fully aware of just who I was dancing with. As the euro-pop song unknown to me currently playing overhead drew to a close I opened my eyes and took in the happenings around me for the first time in what felt like hours. And as I did, I was confronted with the most alarmingly beautiful eyes I have ever seen, but I had seen them, before this moment, that is.

As a reserved and knowing smile passes over both his and my own face, the song changes and we continue to sway alongside one another in companionable silence. The briefest of innocent touches occur naturally as we rhythmically move our bodies to the music playing overhead.

I had no comprehension of just how long I had been dancing with my current partner but as a particularly uptempo song drew to a close and I once again looked him in the eyes, a warm and friendly smile that reached his eyes graced his face, “Timothée” he softly spoke, raising a hand to shyly rub the back of his neck before he continued, “would you like another drink?”.

Blinking slowly I tentatively returned his reserved greeting and nodded with a simple, “Freya, yes, okay”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again if you’ve read this far, it seems mad to me that anyone is reading my ramblings on! 
> 
> I know there was barely a hint of Timmy in this chapter again, but rest assured, from here on out there will be a lot more of our beautiful boy!
> 
> I just wanted to pop a bit of a disclaimer in here too, I have not yet had the pleasure to visit Crema so if my descriptions are not accurate please let me know. I am reading up on the area and using google maps when trying to plan out the movements of the characters in this fic. 
> 
> I also need to say that while the restaurant in this story does in fact exist, I don’t think it functions as it will in this fic.
> 
> Also, I am currently learning italian, so if I make any mistakes in the limited italian I will be using within this fic let me know and I will happily fix anything! 
> 
> Once again, thank you for giving this fic and me a chance, I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> All the love!


	3. Citrus Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Mystique’: a quality of mystery, glamour, or power associated with someone or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s going to be a little bit of Italian in this chapter, I’ll pop English translations below:
> 
> Spritz veneziano / Aperol Spritz  
> Tesoro / Dear or Treasure  
> Sì / Yes  
> Non fare qualcosa che io non farei / Don’t do something I wouldn’t do  
> Buonanotte / Goodnight  
> Pronto / Ready  
> Grazie / Thank you
> 
> Also please remember that I’m by no means an Italian speaker, I am simply learning so if there’s any mistakes please let me know and I’ll fix them right up!

“What brings you to Crema then Freya?” 

He did not know the gravity behind the answer question, and I thought it best not to launch into a long rehearsed monologue about self discovery considering we just met. A speech that I have become used to resisting whenever asked that very same question by every member of my immediate family since I began planning this trip. 

Instead I simply say “Honestly? I just needed a break from reality for a while”.

A look of equal parts confusion and understanding flash quickly across his face before he settles on a relieved smile. And as if releasing a long kept secret he sighs, “I understand completely”. And with that we both turned and walked towards the entrance of the restaurant. 

“Is spritz veneziano okay?” 

I nodded my affirmation before turning to find a table on the patio directly in front of the restaurant, but set back just enough from the impromptu dance floor we just vacated. Settling into my seat, and relaxing into the summer evening breeze I smiled fondly over at the beautiful stranger sauntering towards me who is both so familiar and yet unfamiliar, and pondered just how my second evening in Crema had ended like this.

Faining confidence I look up at him as he settles down in front of me, “So, what brings you to Crema then, Timothée?”.

Placing the tangy cocktails on the table between us he hesitates for a second, as if trying to assess the situation for the first time since we left the dance floor, “I had a gap in between a couple really demanding projects, and an old colleague who lives here offered me his annex to hide out in for a few weeks” 

Smiling widely he explained further, “and who could say no to Italia?”

Chuckling along with his explanation and aiming to remain as nonchalant as I could, I addressed the possible elephant in the metaphorical room for the first time, “I actually caught your latest project, The King, it was an exceptional film”.

His hand reached up to rub the back of his neck again, this must be a nervous tic of his, as if he is uncomfortable receiving such praise from a total stranger. Chuckling softly he replies “thank you, it was intense”.

Tilting his head slightly as he takes a long sip from our previously forgotten drinks, and as he places it back down “I feel slightly on the back foot here as you already know what I do for a living”. Smiling to himself, he begins toying with straw that extends from his glass, “what is it you do Freya?”

While I am fully aware of just how attractive my current drinking partner is, with his unruly brown curls cascading around his angular yet soft face, and his alarmingly captivating eyes, what i was not awake to was the reaction he would extract from simply uttering my name. 

My breath caught in my throat a moment before I too took a sip of my drink to settle my nerves and collect my thoughts.

“I’m a writer”.

Nodding to himself, “I can see that”.

“You can” I state, “how exactly?”.

“I can always spot a fellow creative” pausing for a second before continuing, “plus, there’s an air of mystique about you”.

A relaxed silence settles over us as I nervously attempt to decipher the meaning behind his evasive words before he again interrupts my thoughts.

“Shall we dance?” a cheeky smile now lighting up his face, though if I’m honest, it lit up the whole piazza.

*****

The evening carried on like that for what felt like hours. Drifting from the bar back to the dance floor with an endless stream of drinks and laughter. The sour taste of our cocktail of choice mingling with the sweet summer air of Italy created a heady concoction. Combining that with the ethereal sounds of laughter my awful attempts at dancing extracts from my current dance partner could make one feel as if they were floating. But as I said, it could well be the cocktails.

Echoing across the Piazza we hear a faint call, “Timothée, tesoro” we both paused our movements and looked up to the new voice. 

“Fernando and I are heading home now, will you be joining us?” This question should not have felt as loaded as it apparently did, given we had only known one another a number of hours. It may have had something to do with it being delivered by the man responsible for bringing my favourite book to the screen. Yes, it was probably that. 

Making eye contact with Tim over the brim of my glass, and with a shared soft smile he shook his head in reply. His wild curls shifted with the sudden movement, the strands at the base of his neck sticking slightly with perspiration from the warm summer air and our somewhat erratic dancing. 

“I’m going to stay a little longer” an omniscient smile graces Luca’s face, making him both seem like a rogue trickster and a wise old owl rolled into one. 

“Sì, you have a key tesoro” turning to walk away, arm linked with his partner Luca turned back briefly, chuckling as he did so, “non fare qualcosa che io non farei”.

As Luca’s melodic laughter faded into the night I turned to Tim inquisitively, he simply shook his head softly laughing under his breath. With the departure of his director we began swaying aimlessly to the music again, wide smiles upon our faces as we lost ourselves in the music and our surroundings. 

The songs came and went, and as the cocktails continued to flow, the nervous and somewhat hesitant atmosphere of the beginning of our dailience faded, giving way for a heady air of inquisitive sensuality as we continued to dance close together. Reaching across the space between us to my wrists, he raised my arms linking them around his neck. Tentatively I began to softly run my fingers through the damp locks at the base of his neck, as his hands firmly held onto my hips. We continued to move to the music, blissfully ignorant to the world around us for what felt like a lifetime.

“Is this okay?” His voice seemed to have dropped an octave or two as he whispered directly into my ear. And as he did, the small hairs along my spine visibly stand on end as his warm breath dances across my skin. He must have realised too this as I felt a deep chuckle reverberate through his chest and echo into my own.

Somehow however, I manage to clear the fog from my mind and breathlessly affirm his question and that is how we stay. Closely pressed together, swaying sensually yet still maintaining a level of reserve fitting of two near strangers. 

That was until the music came to an abrupt halt and we were forced out of the bubble of our own creation. As I looked up I noticed that not only had the music ceased, but the outdoor area had emptied around us. And further still the Piazza itself was emptying, stragglers drifting out to all manner of back streets as locals nimbly found their way home. 

Smiling up at Tim with a blush slowly taking over my face, I notice that he looks equally as shocked at the sudden change to our surroundings as he releases a breath and glances down at me.

“Shall I walk you back?”

Arms still circling one another we maintained eye contact for a moment before I nod, “please”. If I was possibly two cocktails lighter I would have been embarrassed at just how breathy my voice was, and not at all down to our previous exertions. 

His arms slowly uncoil from around my waist, one rising to run through his hair, and the other dancing down my arm before he captures my hand in his. Staring down as our fingers curl around each other, relaxed smiles grace both our faces as we began walking down the cobbled streets to my apartment.

“Have you gotten to see much of the city yet?”

“Not yet, I’m here for a month. I didn’t want to rush, you know?”

Pausing ever so slightly, “maybe I could show you around? I did live here for a summer too once”.

Stunned by his kind offer, “if you’ve the time, that’d be lovely, thank you Timothée”.

“Tim” he quickly corrected before continuing, “and of course I have the time, I too, am hiding from the real world, remember” referring to our initial conversation earlier this evening. 

Hand in hand, we continue to make small talk as we roam the moonlit side streets until I, far too soon for my liking, pull us to a stop outside the door for my apartment. Most likely due to the impressive number of drinks we had both consumed this evening, or maybe he is just clumsy, but Tim stumbles into me as he registers my sudden lack of movement. This action causes me to stumble backwards, leaning my exposed shoulders against the cool stone wall next to my door. Tim falls with me, standing in front of me a fraction, one hand still firmly clasped in my own, and the other against the wall beside my head as if to stop us colliding with the abrupt momentum of our fall. 

Standing there, against the wall, we both awkwardly chuckle, as he slowly tilts his head up, appraising my pitiful slither of a balcony two floors above our heads. Glancing back down he gazes deeply into my eyes before they drift a fraction lower. 

It feels as if I have been standing here, willingly trapped between a cold wall and a beautiful man, for hours when Tim ever so slowly moves a step closer to me. He loosens his grip on my hand that had previously swayed between our hips, and raises it gently, trailing featherlight touches up my arm until it settles alongside my face, cupping the back of my neck slightly. 

Hesitating for only a second, sparing a quick glance back up to my eyes as if silently asking for permission he moves his face a fraction closer. My own chin tilting up to him, and on instinct alone I raise my own hands to rest lightly on his chest. 

And as the empty streets of Crema dissolve into the background our lips meet in a gentle and somewhat reserved kiss, fleeting past one another as if they were unsure of their reception. This hesitance however was fleeting.

Within seconds of our lips first connecting, Tim’s grip on the back of my neck tightens and my hands previously resting on his chest raise to curl my fingers through his unruly hair pulling him closer. As he steps forward removing all of the remaining space between us, our hips press together and he deepens the kiss. 

Through his thin shirt I can feel his heart beating strongly within his chest, mine racing forward matching his as he tilts my head back ever so slightly allowing for his tongue to slip inside my mouth. Fisting my hand in his shirt I give myself over fully to the overwhelming sensation that is kissing this beautiful man, that was only hours before a total stranger. 

After what felt like an age of getting aimlessly lost in his embrace, Tim slows our kiss down until our lips are merely ghosting past the others while we both pant breathlessly into the limited space between us. Finally separating I lean my head forward, resting along the slender column of his neck attempting to catch my breath. Above me Tim placed his chin along the crown of my head doing the same. 

A shared moment of comfortable silence passed over us as my hands slowly uncoiled from his hair and came to rest on his hips. Tim’s grip on the back of my neck also loosened as he began to gently play with strands of my hair that rested upon my shoulders. 

Leaning back I cast a hesitant glance up at him, an air of nervousness present as I am greeted with mirrored emotions upon his face as he stammers out “I-uh, I should let you get inside”. His gruff voice abruptly shattering the dreamlike state previously fogging my mind. 

“Oh” I mumble, my mouth not quite catching up with my brain. The taste of his lips and the citrus cocktails we had been drinking flood my senses leaving me incapable of forming a coherent sentence it seems. 

He takes a small step back in an effort to put some physical space between our bodies that otherwise were moulded into one another and the stone wall. His hand falls to mine, once again connecting our hands, briefly squeezing my fingers tightly before separating from me completely. 

I look up at him, completely dumbfounded and try again, “thank you” is all I get out before a blush covers my cheeks, “-for the drinks I mean”. 

And with that Tim chuckles softly, and any air of awkwardness that had arisen vanished without a trace, “you’re welcome love”.

And with that simple utterance I was gone, though, if I’m honest, I think I was gone the moment our eyes first met. But with thoughts such as these rushing through my head I silently agreed with Tim, maybe it is time I get inside before my alcohol induced stupor allows for one of these thoughts to escape the relative comfort of my mind.

Finally separating myself from the cool wall, I take my keys from my bag and turn to place them in lock. 

I felt his presence before I felt his actual touch. He stepped close behind me, one hand on my hip and the other steadying the key in the lock as he brings his soft lips to where my shoulder meets my neck. My head rolls back onto his chest as he places delicate kisses to my skin. So impossibly delicate that if not for the firm grip of his hand on my hip I would think I was imagining the whole interaction.

“You best get inside, yeah” he breaths across my skin, unsure if this was a command or a question, I wordlessly nod my head. And as I do he takes a step back, again, but this time puts more space between us than the last time we separated and nods silently to himself before looking up and meeting my eyes. And with a final nod he whispers “buonanotte” so softly it is almost lost in the air between us, and he turns down the cobbled streets we stumbled down together moments ago.

When his silhouette had finally faded from view I opened the door and made my way up to the apartment above. The happenings of the evening, but more specifically those of the last minutes, play on repeat in my mind as I slip into bed. Intoxicated on both alcohol and the heady happenings with Timothée, I drift peacefully to sleep with a single recurring thought going through my mind; shit, I didn’t ask for his number. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to anyone reading this, I am having a brilliant time exploring and writing these characters. Possibly too much as I have penned the first draft of the last two chapters already! Am I getting ahead of myself? Probably!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments section, leave kudos, bookmark and subscribe so you’ll get notified whenever I update! Also let me know if you prefer to have the translations at the start or end of a chapter!
> 
> All the love!


	4. Green Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Hope’: a feeling of expectation and desire for a particular thing to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this next chapter, sorry it took a little longer than I planned to upload, but I hope it’s been worth the wait! 
> 
> Please don’t forget to let me know what you think!

By some miracle I woke with a moderately clear mind, the slight fogginess can be attributed to an inebriated nights sleep. Aside from the residual aching in my feet from the hours I spent on the dance floor I could possibly be tricked into thinking last night was simply an illusion. But alas, it was reality. For a few hours at least. 

I knew when coming out to Italy that I would meet and befriend people along the way, other tourists or even the locals if my minimal Italian could stretch that far. What I did not expect was to spend my second night in Crema with someone such as Timothée. He had such a carefree aura about him, one that, for a couple of hours at least, gave me a much needed reprieve from my own solitary company. 

One thing I cannot quite understand, be it the slight orange flavoured hue that tints my memories, is how abruptly he left. The whole evening had progressed so naturally and so organically. There was an effortless ease to all our interactions, be it our, what must have been incredibly displaced dancing, our simple conversations, or the intensely overwhelming physical connection that we ended the evening with. But yet, he pulled away. So suddenly. I can’t help but to wonder just what halted his actions. 

With a mass of images from the night before floating around my mind. Green eyes and unruly brown locks floating in and out of my consciousness as I finally get out of bed. With a mug of black coffee and my notebook in hand I settle on the small balcony to try and release some of these thoughts from my head.

I have been writing for years now, for myself at the beginning, as a way of letting loose the demons from my mind. It took a couple years, and a lot of pushing from my nearest and dearest but eventually I reached out and began working for a small record label as a resident writer. But for a while now, longer than I’d care to admit, I’ve been struggling. Luckily up until recently I had a backlog from my university days to fall back on, but that has all but dried up. So here I am, soaking up the Italian morning sun pulling vague words out of the sunrise in the attempts of breaking through my block:

_ Drowning my heart with his eyes, _

_ Conjuring passion that never dies, _

_ So irresistible the pair of green, _

_ Engraved on my mind a beautiful scene, _

_ Bright, serene and filled with mystery, _

_ Amazing how- _

Unlike normal, it’s not my lack of words stopping me from finishing the next line, but the mechanical ringing of the intercom coming from inside. Glancing down through the cast iron bars of the balcony I see the eyes that are now ingrained on my psyche. 

“Timothée?”

“Freya” he breathes out into the wind with a sigh, a warm smile on his lips. 

Breaking our eye contact after a brief moment I notice that he seemingly comes bearing gifts.

“How’s about that tour then? I have coffee” he beams, rubbing the back of his neck. Even metres above street level I can see the unapologetic and pure giddiness clear on his face, tinged only with a slight hint of weariness, as if worried I will turn him away.

“I’ll be down in a second”. 

And with that I scramble around the apartment attempting to gather myself and my belongings. Somehow having to remain both calm and collected while facing this beautiful man again, but this time stone cold sober. Quickly grabbing a slip dress from the top of my yet-to-be-unpacked suitcase and briefly splashing my face with water, I was on my way, tumbling my way down the stairs, completely unprepared for whatever was waiting for me behind that door. 

And there he was, standing there in all his sun kissed glory. Somehow managing to look completely ethereal while donning the most simple of clothes, a plain white t-shirt and light denim shorts. In one hand was two takeaway coffee cups, and in the other a mystery paper bag.

“I thought you might need this” he speaks as he passes me one of the cups in his possession.

Stunned, and slightly lost for words, I utter a quick “grazie Timothée” taking the cup from him.

“Timmy” he fires back with a smile, “just Timmy”.

Despite the relaxed and almost explorative physical interactions between us only hours earlier, the lack of alcohol in our systems seemed to have reduced the both of us to anxious and uncertain shadows of our former selves. With a sweep of his arm Timothée turns, beckoning me to follow along, and of course I oblige. Now lacking the Dutch courage, the languid physicality we achieved the evening prior missing as we leave.

Our previous nervousness does however dissipate slowly into the warm air around us as we amble through the streets of Crema. Timothée pointed to various shops and eateries as we passed by, recalling tales of his time here and making many recommendations as we go. Even reaching as far as to make promises of our returning to certain stops along the way on another occasion. Those small snippets I’m not even sure he realises he’s said sow seeds of hope in the pit of my stomach, ones I am bound to regret later.

“So, if I remember right, you said you’re a writer?” Tim asked as we settled down onto a bench in the park a number of streets behind the Piazza. Finally opening up his bag of mystery goodies pulling out an array of breakfast pastries onto the space between our hips, “what is it you write?”

“I am, freelance mostly, so a bit of everything, but songwriting too, or at least I did” I say looking down at the now empty coffee cup in my hands, ashamed to admit my current failings to a near stranger, be it an incredibly attractive stranger, whose lips just happened to be upon my own only hours ago.

“Did?”

“Not so much lately, I just, I can’t seem to find my words”, glancing back up I see a reassuring smile on his face encouraging me to continue. “I guess it’s why I’m here, to try and find inspiration again”.

“I’m sure a few days in the Italian sun will give you plenty of inspiration”.

“A month actually”, he looked back at me slightly dazed, “I’m here for a month, give or take”.

“Oh” looking blankly at me for a second, I could almost see his thoughts floating across his face, but I do not yet know him well enough to disseminate them all. “You’ll have plenty to write about then in that case”.

“Here’s hoping” smiling across at him a moment longer before turning away as I feel a slight tinge of pink overcome my complexion.

I wasn’t going to tell him that already, on only my third day here I had already started to brush off the proverbial cobwebs. And I certainly was not going to tell him that it was his very emerald orbs that drew me to finally put pen to paper again. No, he didn’t need to know that. Not now anyway. Possibly not ever. If we are even to have an ‘ever’ after today. 

“Will I have heard anything of yours? On the radio, or something?”

Shaking me out of my momentary reverie, my expression rapidly changing from flushed to amused, “you listen to the radio?”

“Well-” choking out a laughter that saturates the world around us, shaking his head as he finishes “no, I guess I don’t”.

“I’ve sold a couple songs, nothing major just yet” shrugging slightly, admitting yet another failing of mine, “but, there’s always tomorrow?”

Smiling wistfully back at me, those wonderful cogs of his ticking away again, “there’s always tomorrow” he echos. 

  
  


*****

Getting up from the bench and beginning to stroll back through the increasingly familiar streets of my new temporary home, we continued to get to know one another. 

Tim told me tales of growing up surrounded by vibrant art and culture in New York, a world away from my modest upbringing in Cheshire. He told me of learning ballet with his elder sister, Pauline, and endless summers spent in France being so immersed in the captivating culture that he left lost as he made his journey home. 

He told me of his experiences in more recent years, of living out of a suitcase since he turned twenty. Floating from one hotel to another, or from one country to another. Constantly on the move and unmoored. A drifter, a rogue, bouncing from one project to the next with little to no time in between to truly sit and relax in this new world he created for himself. He told me of his desire to slow down, and his fears of doing just that, his fears of the repercussions a break could have on his still fledgling career. 

“It’s heavy you know, I can’t complain because, well, I’m literally living out my dream, but-” a slight look of yearning passes across his face, “it would be nice to have a minute, to just be me, for a minute”.

  
  


And in turn, I told him about my life. About growing up as an only child in a small and quintessentially English pub. Of moving to Manchester for university and never returning to the market town I called home for the first eighteen years of my life. Of how upon graduation I moved into a city centre flat with my three best friends, and a stray three legged cat called Winston that decided we were his family. 

“It gets pretty messy, and we are all so different, but it’s life you know? And as a writer, I think I need a little mess, to help keep my thoughts clear”.

While we shared details about our lives to one another, neither of us dared to mention, or allude to, the activities of the previous night. Neither one of us addressed our previous physical closeness, or our current distance. Perhaps this is something he does often. Perhaps dancing with strangers and kissing them down darkened streets in the early hours of the morning is a regular occurance in the life of a jet setting movie star. Though, somehow, and I’m not sure how, I don’t think Tim is like that. But what do I know, I haven’t even known the man a whole twenty four hours yet.

Once again disrupting me from my mindless musings as we approached the gelato shop he assures me is ‘the best in all of Italy’, “so why Crema? Why did you pick here to run away to?”.

I was flawed, and nervous about the repercussions to my honest answer. Do I tell him that I am here because Acimans’ book simultaneously broke and fixed my already aching heart? That Guadagnino's film cracked my chest open and bared my soul to the world around me, leaving me bruised and broken? That both his and his co-stars performances in said film left me yearning for a kinship that I didn’t know I was missing? No, I don't tell him any of these things, instead opting for a much safer, yet equally true, option.

“It seemed like a beautiful place to escape to” smiling wistfully, “like a slice of heaven”, and that told him all he needed to know.

“How’s it holding up so far?”

Logically, I know he is asking about Crema, but the cheeky glisten that flashes inquisitively across his eyes has my heart racing. His question is loaded, whether he intended so or not is another matter, is he asking if  _ he _ is living up to my expectations as well? 

Unsure, I hesitantly reply, the light blush already returning to my face before I even utter a word, “pretty well”.

Forcing myself to look away from his overwhelming stare and back down at the rapidly melted gelato, “so far”. Those two words held so much promise. I knew it and I sensed that he too was aware as we ate the remainder of our sweet snacks in a comfortable silence. 

*****

The more time I spend with Tim, the more I notice the unique intricasses and mannerisms that make him who he is. Like when he laughs, his tittering chuckle that slowly shakes his whole frame, the golden smile on his face lighting up the world around him. Or the way he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous, or unsure about his words or the situation he finds himself in. He is such an expressive person, everything is so clear to see, every thought and every emotion so close to the surface just waiting burst out. It’s breathtaking. 

The afternoon rolls by in flash, endless tales of our youth shared alongside tidbits of information from our differing careers. Both of us seemingly intrigued and interested in the others.

After a while Tim blurts out, “I’m going away tomorrow”.

“Away?” unease slowly creeping into my spine at the only other person I know in this country leaving so soon after meeting him.

“Yeah, I-“ raising that telltale hand to the back of his neck before he spoke again, “I told Luca I would help scout out locations for a project he’s working on, we are going to Florence for a couple days”.

“Oh, okay- I mean”, trying to cover my hesitance. “That’ll be amazing, it’s meant to be beautiful” I finish, hoping to have concealed my disappointment well enough, though I am doubtful of my effectiveness on this front.

Passively humming his affirmation as if he’s not sure if he actually agrees, “it’ll be great I’m sure”. 

Silence lapses over us once again, however this time significantly less comfortable, until he speaks once again, “do you, maybe, want to do something again? When I’m back I mean”.

I was not expecting that. In the mere seconds since he announced his departure I had settled on this being the end to our brief dalliance, soon to be filled away as one of those fleeting serendipitous moments in time that one looks back on with fondness. I had not expected a continuation. 

“I’d like that” unable to keep the grin from returning to my face.

And with that Tim once again walked me to my door, this time however without the lusty glances and physical intimacy of two passionately inebriated teens. We exchanged numbers on my step and bid each other farewell with a loose embrace, both of us pulling apart with a tinge of rouge upon our faces. Maybe his mind was drifting to the same place as mine.

Back inside after an unexpectedly beautiful day I once again found myself sat on the balcony, legs hanging through the bars, floating in the wind, as I rattled my pen against the page of my notebook. This time my morning coffee was replaced by a chilled glass of wine, an endless stream of words drifting through my mind. Not enough words for a finished song, but like this morning, the words flow onto the page with little to no trouble:

_ I like what you do and I like that you keep doin’ it, _

_ Your eyes look mighty fine I really think I’m loosin’ it, _

_ Oh, pretty boy, don’t be shy, _

_ Like all your good ideas, _

_ Ain’t this a nice surprise to find a man so dear. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading this work! Please let me know what you think in the comments or feel free to DM over on Twitter (@corxcordium_)! 
> 
> While I may be writing this fic I have absolutely zero skills in songwriting so I will be lifting them from songs and poems I like. The first is from a poem I found online called ‘Green Eyes’ by Walaa, and the second is a song, ‘Make You Smile’, by the insanely talented Elle King.


	5. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Fate’: the development of events outside a person's control, regarded as predetermined by a supernatural power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations:
> 
> Mi scusi - Excuse me  
> Sì, è gratuito - Yes, it is free  
> Molto Bene, Grazie - Very good, thank you  
> Buongiorno - Good morning  
> Mi chiamo - My name is  
> Sei Inglese? - Are you English?  
> Bellissimo - Beautiful  
> Mi Caro - My dear  
> Il ragazzi sono vuoto tra la orecchie - The boys are empty between the ears  
> Et tu? - And you?  
> Il nonsenso - Nonsense  
> Andiamo - Let's go  
> è bella - It is beautiful  
> è molto bella - It is very beautiful  
> è il destino - It is destiny  
> Quanto prezioso - How precious  
> Lei non sa - She doesn't know  
> Prego - You're welcome  
> Il tuo Americano - Your American  
> Andrà tutto bene - Everything will be fine  
> La bella donna - The beautiful woman

Today is my first day truly alone. And despite only knowing, and being in his presence a number of days, the prospect of exploring the city without Tim already makes the whole experience seem much less inviting. And that thought alone should scare me more than it does. However, not one to waste a day in such a glorious location I drag myself to my feet to start the day. Maybe it isn’t going to be the same experience as yesterday, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be just as rewarding, if not in a completely different way. Though I can’t help thinking that the day already seems less bright.

With another simple slip dress and my rucksack slung across my shoulders I began to carefully maneuver my bicycle down the winding stairs to the street below. My one goal of the morning, to make it unscathed and sans a tumble down the stairs, and to find coffee. Always to find coffee.

With half of that small checklist completed with moderate success, standing atop my bike I pushed off in search of the cafe that Tim recommended yesterday. And just like that, my traitorous mind has once again drifted it’s way back to him.

It’s not like I have never had a spontaneous encounter like ours before, though I can say with all certainty that none have been with someone quite as captivating. But that alone should not cause this overwhelming sense of intrigue or interest I apparently have in him. I feel like ‘misplaced infatuation’ is the only phrase even remotely adequate to describe my current feelings. For if Tim’s actions yesterday are anything to go by, our late night dalliance after dancing into the early hours was a one time occurrence, seemingly only interested in my company as a friendly companion.

Maybe he wouldn’t even remember by the time he returns from Florence? I doubt he is sitting in one of the most beautiful and majestic cities in the country, or world for that matter, with his mind wandering to a plain English girl back in Crema. No. And if not for that reason alone, but a plenitude of others, I decide to push all thoughts of him out of my mind. I came to Italy to work on myself, not find a man. Even a man as captivating and beautiful as Tim.

With that in mind, I am determined to begin work on myself and my writing. And if he does wish to see me again when he returns, well, we will cross that bridge if it arrives. However, since the only two small snippets of songs that I have been able to write have been inspired by him, I’m not overly confident on my ability to fulfil this task.

With a coffee ordered and my bike resting on its stand beside my table, I take out my notebook, lightly tapping my pen on the table as I search my mind for inspiration. Once again it is filled with the deepest of greens swirling interchangeably with streaks of glittering gold. Shaking my head, indescribably annoyed at my treacherous mind disobeying me again, as I take a long sip from my first espresso of the day.

Startled out of my reverie by the scraping of metal across the cobbled floor and a soft angelic voice.

“Mi scusi?”

Looking up I spot an elderly woman, perhaps in her 80's, coffee in one hand, the other gesturing wildly to the chair opposite me. Only now noticing that the previously empty tables surrounding me had suddenly become occupied, filling the air with laughter and conversations in a multitude of languages. I must have been more lost in thought that I previously realised.

I smile and return her gesture, “sì, è gratuito”, happy at the possibility of some company, even happier at the thought of distracting myself from my current line of thought.

“Molto bene, grazie” she beams as she settles down opposite me, gracefully placing her drink atop the table. “Buongiorno, mi chiamo Rose” she introduces herself, reaching out a hand to shake my own.

“Buongiorno, Freya” my accent very obviously dropped as I spoke my name.

Her face lit up with realisation as she clocked my mistake, “ah, sì, sei Inglese?” 

“Sì”.

“Bellissimo” her smile even brighter before she continued in English, “but you speak Italian Freya?”

“A little, not as much as I would like”.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I mi caro?”

“No, no, not at all” I smile over at her, “don’t worry”.

“A beautiful girl like you should not be spending her days alone” a wistful look upon her face but a cheeky glint shining in her eyes as she continued, “especially in the country of love and romance”.

Logically I know that Rose does not know me, does not know my previously hapless experiences with romance, nor does she know of the current situation that previously clouded my mind before she sat down with me only a moment ago. And I’m not sure if it’s her age and the clear signs of a life well lived in the laugh lines that surround her warm and inquisitive eyes, or the inviting and trusting smile on her slightly rouged thin lips, but I find myself wanting to divulge all of my deepest and darkest secrets to her. Knowing instinctively that she is a trustworthy confidant, perhaps simply because she is unknown to me .

“I’m afraid not, it seems” my self doubt is clear for all to see.

“Sì, il ragazzi sono vuoto tra le orecchie” she chuckles to herself, noting the confusion on my face and realising she found the limit to my Italian knowledge. “Empty between the ears, boys these days”.

“Yes, I think you’re right”, unable to contain the soft laughter that rose from deep within my chest at her earnestness, “enough about my lack of a love life, tell me about you Rose”.

  
“Ah, me, sì”.

And with that she told me of how she met her husband, Giorgio, when she was only 13, and he 16. Of how she had lived in Crema her whole life, and how when she was spending yet another endless summer in the familiar heat when she met a summer visitor from southern Italy. She told me of how they fell in love the instant that they met, love at first sight, a true fairy tale. She told me of endless nights spent running out to meet him under the stars as their parents slept at home. An entire summer of stolen moments before the time came for Giorgio to return home. And how he took her heart with him, and in turn left his with her. She told me how they longed for one another in the many years that followed. Until the year she turned 17 when Giorgio returned to Crema, he came back for her and asked for her hand.

“Oh, it was- it was so romantic” Rose hummed, her eyes glazing over as she relived the memories.

She told me of how they married the very next day, wasting no time considering that they had already lost years. The first day of her true life she calls it, as if waking up from a long sleep, the day their life together truly began. A life filled with more love and laughter than any two people can hope for as they raised their family under the Italian sun.

“He sounds like a real catch, you’re a very lucky lady Rose” I told her.

“Oh sì, I know” a wistful look still upon her face. “E tu? No special someone in your life Freya?”

“No, I’m not sure romance is on the cards for me”.

“Il nonsenso” she shakes her head in mock exasperation at me, “keep your heart open mi caro, you never know what’s planned for you”.

My phone screen resting beside my now empty glass lit up abruptly with a text notification, from a name I had not expected to see:

_Timothée: you were right. it’s beautiful here._

He had attached a photo, a selfie of him stood in front of Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, the infamously beautiful dome faintly visible in the background over his shoulder. My eyes are immediately drawn to the blinding smile on his face. His mesmerising eyes, usually so wide are squinting slightly under the midday sun, only working to highlight his laugh lines. Joy. It’s clear to see. He is filled with joy in this photo. And that combined with the fact that he reached out, that he text me just to tell me about his day, completely flaws me.

“Maybe you’ve already met what’s planned for you, sì?”

Heat immediately engulfed my cheeks, tinting them a deep shade of red, one that I am sure dwarfed the freckles across my cheeks. “Maybe,” my disbelief clear to see.

A pensive look passes over her face, “come, come, andiamo” once again shaking her head at me, “let me take you somewhere, è bella, you will love it”.

Gathering our things we embark on this mystery quest for beauty with Rose toddling on ahead of me, frequently turning around to make sure I am still following her as I push my bike alongside me. Thinking back to Tim’s text I lift my phone out of my pocket and take a quick photo of Rose ahead of me, her grey hair in striking contrast to the bustling streets around her, and attach it to my reply:

_Freya: meet my new tour guide_

Almost instantly a reply rings through:

_Timothée: oh. wow. it hurts you’ve replaced me so easily._

Is he flirting? The realisation hits me as Rose pulls to a stop in front of the most magnificent red brick cathedral adorned with teal domes atop the multiple turrets surrounding the grand brick rotunda. Rose was right, it is beautiful, jaw droppingly beautiful. The extraordinary sight before me momentarily distracts my mind from the message currently sitting in my phone and the many possible meanings behind it.

“È bella no?” Rose’s voice disturbs me from my musings.

“Sì” unable to keep the awe from my face, “è molto bella”.

Awe is quickly replaced by shock as I feel my phone vibrate once again:

_Timothée: i hope your new friend won’t be taking my place as your dance partner too…_  
  


Shock is once again replaced, even faster, with a bright blush, again. He really is flirting. Unabashedly flirting even. Realisation settling in I quickly type out a reply:

_Freya: i don’t think you’ve any worries there, i’m sure my dance skills would only embarrass poor rose, so i think you’re stuck with me, for now..._

Rose, in all of her wisdom, must have noticed the change in me, “Oh Freya, mi caro” raising her arm to rest on my back as she leads me through the towering dark wooden doors to the Basilica Santa Maria della Croce.

“Anyone who can make you smile like that through the phone is someone special”.

Embarrassed at being so obvious in my apparent affection I look down as I repeat my utterance from earlier with a simple, “maybe”.

I look up again as we enter the Basilica and once again awe is my dominant emotion as I bask in the true beauty in front of, and above, me. The walls and ceilings are adorned with renaissance paintings, complimented by the many marble pillars placed around the room. A warm and serene feeling washes over me and I stand slack jawed with Rose at my side, sharing a similar look despite her familiarity with our current location.

“Tell me about them” she whispers, bringing me back down to our previous conversation and she pulls us to a stop in a pew towards the front of the Basilica.

And I did. Already feeling completely comfortable in her company I told her everything. I told her of how we met, of how we danced like there was no end in sight and of how we kissed like there was no tomorrow. I told her of his captivating eyes and of his slightly crooked but completely charming smile that could shatter the hearts of anyone lucky enough to make his acquaintance. I told her how he within a short space of time made me feel truly alive, how he inspired me to start writing again, and of how he had left.

“Mi caro, he’s coming back, no?”

“Yes, in a few days, he’ll be back in a few days” I inform her.

“So, what are you worrying for?”

And with that I my rambling begins again. I tell her of my worries. My worries of his feelings towards me, or possible lack of. My worries of my own feelings, and how rapidly they appear to have developed. And I tell her my worries of my writing, or my lack of writing, and my sudden readiness to write about all things Tim.

“Is that not a good sign, sì?” She nods encouragingly.

“No, no it’s not, it’s terrifying” I tell her exasperatedly, “I’ve only just met him Rose, I shouldn’t be feeling this much this soon”.

“Freya, nobody can tell you how you should or shouldn’t be feeling, not even yourself”.

“It’s too soon” dropping my head into my hands, elbows braised upon my knees.

“We do not get to decide such things mi caro, è il destino, it is fated. We cannot hope to control things of the heart, they simply are”.

My previously forgotten phone once again notifies me of a new message, quickly followed by another:

_Timothée: im glad_

_Timothée: write any number 1 hits yet?_

“Oh, quanto prezioso! He’s very keen” Rose praises me, arms raised high front of us emphasising her apparent happiness at my current situation.

“He’s probably just trying to be nice”.

“Lei non sa” she mutters under her breath shaking her head exasperatedly, “I must be on my way, mi caro, my Giorgio will be wondering where I have gotten to”.

I move to stand and leave with her before she places a hand on my shoulder softly pushing me back into my seat, “sit for a while, soak up the beauty, you never know, the answers you’re looking for might come to you”.

“Grazie Rose, for today, for listening, for everything”.

“Prego mi caro, we will meet again, I can feel it” she smiles at me as she leaves our pew, before turning back to me with an omniscient smile, “and good luck with il tuo americano, and remember, andrà tutto bene!”

As quickly as Rose swept into my day, she swept out of it with a delicate twist of the wrist and a slight chuckle that reverberates throughout the Basilica around me. She left me sitting in this holy place, alone, nothing but the thoughts racing through my mind as send Tim my reply:

_Freya: maybe._

His reply is almost instantaneous:

_Timothée: show me?_

An uncontrollable smile settles upon my face at our light hearted repartee:

_Freya: you’ll have to wait to see…_

I’m not sure where this confidence has come from. I am certain, however, that I will not be sharing any of my lyrics with Tim. It would be like baring my soul to him. Maybe one day, but that day is certainly not today.

At the mention of my writing I pull my notebook out from my rucksack and finally touch my pen to paper, thinking over the my day with Rose and all of the wisdom and advice she had bestowed upon me today:

_Cause’ I, I’m in love,_

_With my future,_

_Can’t wait to meet her,_

_And I, I’m in love,_

_Not with anybody else,_

_Just want to get to know myself._

_I know supposedly I’m lonely now,_

_Know I’m supposed to be unhappy,_

_Without someone,_

_But aren’t I someone?_

_I’d like to be your answer,_

_I’d like to be your someone._

The sound of my phone vibrating again breaks my concentration:

_Timothée: i‘m an impatient man freya this isn’t fair_

_Timothée: are you free on sunday? or is your new friend monopolising all of your time now?_

Rose was right, noticing my reactions to his messages, nobody should beam this much at simple words on a screen, yet here I am:

_Freya: i’m sure i can drag myself away for a few hours…_

_Freya: what’re you thinking?_

The smirk on my face only growing with his replies:

_Timothée: luca’s having a meal to celebrate our return_

_Timothée: besides. i think i need to earn back my titles as your personal tour guide…_

I can’t help but tease him back, to see just how far he is willing to push our current flirtations:

_Freya: timothée chalamet, are you jealous of poor old rose?_

At that I close my eyes and place my phone down at my side as I wait for a reply. Knowing that with that playful message I am possibly opening up my heart to rejection but all the while praying that he will play along, and this lightheartedness between us will continue, indefinitely:

_Timothée: maybe…_

_TImothée: just a little…_

Relief. That is what I feel at first. Flustered. That is what I feel next. Overwhelmed. That is what I feel constantly when thinking off, or talking to Tim. And it is this final emotion that causes me to bring the tone of conversation down in an instant. Losing our previous jovial tone, my trepidation clear to read:

_Freya: i won’t be intruding?_

As if he could sense my apprehension from 170+ miles away as he attempts to soothe me:

_Timothée: not at all!_

_Timothée: actually, luca told me to invite “la bella donna from the dancing”. so i think he’d be hurt if you didn’t come._

_Timothée: as would i._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super happy with this chapter and hope you all loved reading it just as much as I did writing it! If so please bookmark and leave kudos, and tell me what you think in the comments section! I hope you like Rose as much as I do, as she may make a reappearance in a couple chapters time… who knows?
> 
> I know the Timmy content was limited in this chapter but fear not, he will be back in Crema and with Freya soon enough, maybe… who knows?
> 
> The lyrics in this chapter are from My Future by Billie Eilish, I have only altered the final line to better fit this story!
> 
> As always, all the love! 


	6. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Anticipation': is a feeling of excitement about something pleasant or exciting that you know is going to happen.

The streets of Crema bustled around me, life and energy spilling out of every crevice in the cobbled floor and sandstone walls. Locals and holiday goers weaving in and around one another, some heads down focused solely on the task at hand and others leisurely absorbing the beauty around them. Me? I am somewhere between the two. Bar any surprise dinner companions, like yesterday, my plans included nothing but a touch of light shopping and a whole lot of relaxation.

I decided last night that if I’m finally finding my way with writing again I should make a fresh start, in a new journal. And luckily I found the most perfect soft hazelnut coloured leather bound notebook with textured locally sourced paper. The whole book exudes character and boasts a renaissance-esc air of authentic Italian craftsmanship, perfect considering the great impact that simple being here has had on my creativity in a number of days. Well, that and a certain curly haired man. 

So here I find myself, once again settled upon my balcony watching the world go by as I rapidly tap my pen against the page. My mind is a fog with ideas and images of where to go with my first song in the new journal, a new song, a new start. When my phone beeps, shaking me from my reverie.

_Timothée: i think we have seen the entire city today..._

_Timothée: i can’t wait to be back in crema_

Attached to the first text was an image, a very tired and road weary Tim appeared on my screen, clutching a take away cup of what I can only assume is coffee, in what appears to be a garden.

_Freya: bless, not too long now_

Seconds after my reply is sent, a reply rings through.

_Timothée: tomorrow. thankfully. luca’s had us out and on the go first thing._

_Timothée: this coffee is the only thing keeping me from sleeping in a flower bed._

A small chuckle rises in my chest at the visuals as I drop my pen, taking a much needed pause from my pondering to focus on my conversation with Tim.

_Freya: you did offer to help him, so you kind of did this to yourself…_

_Timothée: don’t remind me._

_Timothée: anyway, distract me from my day_

_Timothée: how’s yours going?_

I look down at the discarded remnants of my lunch and the collection of coffee cups I keep forgetting to take back inside, all lying next to the beautiful, and as of yet empty, journal in place in front of me. Shaking my head slightly at how mundane my reply was sure to be compared to his day of sightseeing and location hunting in one of the most historically magnificent cities this country has to offer. 

_Freya: boring, i haven’t done much_

_Freya: i did pick up a new journal at the market though_

_Timothée: how’s that going? the writing…_

The stark white of the empty pages fluttering in the midday wind taunting me and my apparent lack of creativity. Instead of explaining my predicament with words I thought an image is worth a thousand words, or not in this case.

_Timothée: oh. that well?_

_Timothée: i’m sure you’ve got a hit cooking away in that head of yours_

_Timothée: i believe in you_

_Freya: you hardly know me timothée…_

A sense of panic momentarily consumes me as I realise within one small message I have possibly shattered our previously jovial repertoire. After a short wait of what can only be minutes but felt like hours, a reply appears on my screen.

_Timothée: well, hopefully we can change that when i’m back?_

A sudden and intense blush paints my cheeks a deep shade of red, leaving me eternally grateful that Tim is in Florence and cannot see the effect that his probably harmless words have had on me.

_Freya: i’d like that._

Placing my phone face down next to me I reach for my new journal, more determined than before to free my mind from my current thoughts and feelings. Aiming to liberate myself from the whirlpool of thoughts swarming my head, I placed pen on paper and let my words flow as freely as the ink.

_Caught in the sky, I’m lost in the silver,_

_Caught in the sky, I found my gold,_

_Passion came, but will it whither?_

_Is he the one I’m searching for?_

My mind is alight with images of lamp lit streets, while golden speckled eyes dance through my mind like the projection of a vintage 16mm film, crackling away behind my very eyes. 

_Don’t run, stop holding your tongue,_

_Maybe there’s a way out of the cage,_

_Maybe one of these days you can let the light in,_

_I want to see your brave._

Can I do this? Can I let myself do this? Can I let him? Or like so many times before will my walls be too high, too high for even him to climb?

_Caught in the sky, I’m lost in the silver,_

_Caught in the sky, I found my gold,_

_Passion came, but will it whither?_

_Is he the one I hold close?_

The ghost of his arm around my shoulder, of his hand within my own, and of his lips upon mine taunts my body, even the illusion of his touch bringing the hairs along my skin to attention as a chill washes over me.

_How many hearts have never beaten?_

_How many lovers lost in the sun?_

_I may be lost, but I believe in living for love,_

_Because I want it now._

My mind awash with questions as my hand slows to a still with the chorus reverberating around my head once again.

_Caught in the sky, I’m lost in the silver,_

_Caught in the sky, I found my gold,_

_Passion came, but will it whither?_

_Is hewhat I’m searching for?_

A seed of doubt settled in my subconscious as the last line of the verse appeared on the page in front of me. Shaken by my own words, by my own questions, I push my new journal aside and head inside, as if to shut the very feelings that are clouding my thoughts within the journal. However, my hopes at expelling and therefore escaping such thoughts seems to have been futile. So I take a more extreme method, I pull the comforter high over my chest and settle into bed hoping to sleep away my troubling thoughts and drift away into a peaceful sleep. These are my intentions, however, like most things in life, they do not often end how we expect them to.

*****

Hours later my peaceful slumber was disturbed by the incessant ringing of my phone on the floor beside my bed. Without looking, my mind still fogged from sleep, I opened my phone and raised it to my ear. 

“Hello?” my voice hoarse with sleep and a tinge of annoyance.

“Freya” his cheery voice startling me from my previously dazed state as I push myself to sit up against the wooden headboard, as if to anchor myself fully in the moment, delicately balancing the line between asleep and awake.

“Timothée?” bewildered, I continue “is everything okay, are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m brilliant” pausing slightly, “and” his tone changing as if to exaggerate his next point, “it’s Timmy, or Tim, or T, or whatever you’d like really, Timothée is so formal, it sounds like I’m in trouble”.

“Well, are you? You are ringing me at-” pulling the phone away from my ear and finally noticing the time, “1am”.

“What kind of man do you take me for love?” the type of man who can leave me at a loss for words at the blasé utterance of a simple term of endearment, that’s who.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re an angel” I tease, “are we a little drunk, T?” placing emphasis on one of his many nicknames.

“Maybe” the smile sure to be on his face transforms his voice beautifully. How can one word both contain and invoke such positivity? Chuckling lightly to himself as if realising he gave the game away before he truly started playing, before he continued, “maybe just a little”.

“Somehow I don’t believe you”, a dramatic gasp soon fills my ear in response.

“Blasphemous! How dare you doubt me!”

“I mean, am I wrong?” 

A loud burst of laughter echoes around me, so loud that in my sleep addled mind I could believe he was in the next room, “no, you’re not.”

“Have you had a nice night at least?” barely managing to finish the sentence before a yawn overcomes me.

“Oh god” he exclaims, ”I woke you up didn’t I?” worry clear in his voice.

“Maybe-” I mutter, hoping to hide my eagerness to stay on the phone despite my previous state, “just a little.”

“Shit, I’ll go! I’m sorry, I really didn’t think, I was just-” stopping himself abruptly.

“You were just?” 

“I, uh-” he mumbled, I could almost sense him rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for his words and the phone fell silent for a number of seconds, “I just wanted to talk to you, I guess”.

“Oh”.

“I can go, I really should have-” he started before I interrupted him.

“Timothée, it’s okay, really”.

There was a slight pause once again, nothing could be heard apart from his somewhat heavy breathing, resulting in a surprising sense of calm to wash over me as I fell back into the comforter below. 

“I’m in trouble now, aren’t I?” the smirk clear as day in his voice. He’s flirting. Again. 

“Only if you hang up”.

“Oh, okay” his previously confident voice now clouded with surprise, swiftly returning to his self-assured tone, “if you insist”. 

“What did you want to talk about then?”

“I don’t actually know,” he laughs “I hadn’t thought much past hearing your voice really, I blame the wine really”.

“Good night?”

“It’s been nice” pausing for a touch, as if assessing if he really wanted to divulge further “I really can’t wait to be back tomorrow”.

“Oh yeah? Missing Crema are we?”

“Maybe.” 

I hum in response, pulling the comforter higher up my body, turning onto my side and placing the call on loudspeaker so I can settle back into the mattress closing my eyes with relaxation. 

“Or, perhaps, maybe I just want to see you again”.

My eyes opened wide instantly at his words. Logically I know he is only being so forthcoming because he has had a drink, if this wasn’t clear enough as it is, the contrast between our previous two meetings only highlighting the freeing affect that alcohol appears to have on this man. 

“Yeah?”

“Or,” pausing as if he knows he is playing with me, and the effects such taunting will have “maybe I just want to assess the competition and meet your new friend”.

“I’m sure Rose will adore you Tim, there’s no worry there” laughing softly, as a yawn sweeps through my body once again.

“I really should go, let you go back to sleep”.

“No” I state firmly, before lowering my voice slightly “honestly, it’s okay, just tell me about your day”. 

“I already did”.

“Not properly, tell me again” I instruct him as I close my eyes once more, and relax further into the softness that surrounds me. 

“Okay then, well-” Tim begins regaling tales of his day spent traipsing after Luca from location to location, of the extravagant meal they had with some of the cast and crew from Luca’s new project, and of the stories and insight they all imparted after a glass or two too many. 

At some point during his monologue I drifted back off to sleep, his soothing voice enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort. The vague image of a wine drunk Timothée wandering the streets of Florence alone and thinking of me, just as I had hours earlier, floods my mind. Be it a mixture of his voice and the overactive visuals inside my head, but for a moment, the very moment before I drift off once again, I can picture myself there beside him. I can feel the weight of his arm in mine, feel the warmth of his breath upon my skin and feel his words wash over me. 

*****

The next day passes by in a similar fashion. Espresso in hand as the hot Italian sun shone down on me while I relaxed in the Piazza. Trying with all my might to distract myself from tonight, from seeing Tim again, from having to see him again while also managing to make a good impression on Luca and his inevitably interesting dinner guests. In an attempt to overcompensate for my obvious hesitancy, I made another trip to the shops that litter the streets below, with the aim of finding something new to wear tonight. Relying heavily on the idea of metaphorically armouring myself against what is to come. Or to at least give the illusion of competence and confidence. 

I had spoken to Tim on and off throughout the day, small messages here and there, him informing me of Luca’s address and my asking for his preferred flavour of wine. Lighthearted and comical images have been exchanged throughout the day, neither of us really maintaining a conversation as such, just an ever present line of vague communication.

And now I’m here, in the backseat of a taxi, once again. But instead of heading into the centre of Crema, this time I find myself leaving the city behind as we race through the Italian countryside. With a bottle of chilled sparkling wine at my side, hands nervously folding and unfolding atop my bouncing knees, the sound of my heels clipping against one another reverberating around the small metal carriage. 

Slowly the taxi pulled to a stop in front of a grand Italian villa, be it the aged paint work or perhaps as an effect from the unrelenting sun it has been exposed to, the brick tinted a shade of dusty yellow, as wild deep green vines delicately wrap around the north side of the building. A sprawling lawn stretches alongside the gravel driveway, disappearing around the side of the impressive building, only hinting at the beauty I am sure resides at the rear of this beautiful property. An imposing dark wooden door commands the attention of all onlookers at the front of the building, that is until it opens and reveals an even more captivating vision.

Timothée.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bearing with me on this one, as of last week I have officially finished university, again, so I’m now free to write to my heart's content! Apologies that this is a bit of a filler chapter, but know that I do have a whole lot planned out for this fic, so please bookmark this fic so you’ll get notifications whenever I update, which I hope will be more regularly now! Please let me know what you think about the story so far in the comments!
> 
> The lyrics in this chapter are a mashup from three really beautiful, and quite different songs. The majority of the song has been taken from ‘Silver’ by Woodlock, with a verse from ‘Brave’ by Sara Bareilles and another from ‘Barcelona’ by Twin Atlantic. A couple alterations have been made but the main themes of the songs are maintained. 
> 
> As always, please kudos, comment, bookmark, and share!
> 
> All the love!


	7. Bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Bliss': reaching a state of perfect happiness, oblivious of everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations: 
> 
> Cosa fai - What are you doing?  
> La bella donna - The beautiful woman  
> Molto bele - Very beautiful  
> Sì - Yes  
> Il mio amore - My love  
> Tesoro - Darling/treasure  
> Sei giovane solo una volta - You are young only once

[ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0l6HRO8cu4)

It’s only been a couple of days since I last saw him, and even less since I last heard his voice. But seeing him standing there, only metres away with nothing but a car door separating us was almost too much, too overwhelming, too thrilling. He looked indescribably delectable, in a simple striped green shirt and loose fitting light denim jeans, his hair an artful mess of barely tamed curls sitting atop his head. He looked both entirely relaxed and yet effortlessly elegant. My rust coloured wrap dress suddenly felt both too much and yet at the same time not enough. 

It felt as if time itself slowed down as he walked towards the taxi, our eyes never once leaving one another, even while I attempted to pay the driver. He had a warm and inviting smile on his face from the second he appeared from behind the grand wooden door at the front of Luca’s home. I attempted, and probably failed, to gracefully make my way over to him without stumbling or letting my inner-excitement at seeing him again play too obviously across my face. Reining it in as best I could, I approached him, bottle of wine in hand, and noticed that he was unabashedly glancing at me, from the tips of my sandal clad feet, taking his time raising his gaze until he met my eyes once again. A slight blush appeared on his face as if finally realising that he’s been caught, he must have already had a glass or two. A matching flush soon appeared along my neck.

“Hi,” I whispered, my voice floating away into the night air, drowned out by the deafening sound of cicadas and the echo of laughter coming from the rear of the property.

“Hi yourself,” he beamed “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I brought wine.”

“I can see that,” he smirked. “Luca will adore you.”

And as if he sensed his name being uttered Luca appeared from behind the front door, glancing at us for a second too long before making his presence known.

“Timmy, cosa fai?” he turned his head at his name, Luca had already turned his back on us as he called out his final remark, leaving before either of us could respond, “invite la bella donna inside already!”

If my blush had abated, it soon returned at these words. Tim turned back to me and gestured his hand out in front of us, “come on then, welcome to the madhouse” his smirk returning as he mumbles “la bella donna” just loud enough for me to hear. It appears that a deep rouge is to be my colour of the evening. 

Placing his hand lightly upon the bottom of my back, so lightly I can barely feel the pressure, just the unmistakable warmth from another's touch, as he leads me through the imposing doors and into a spacious foyer. A light shade of cream covered the aged walls, an intricate fresco ceiling sat in direct contrast with the terracotta tiling on the floor. A sense of familial warmth was present throughout as Tim led me through the centre of the building, a staircase to my left and numerous doors to either side of me, and every available surface boasting a variety of foliage. With every step through the grand villa a beautiful aroma surrounded us, enveloping us into the scent of extravagant traditional Italian cooking. It smelt like heaven. The sound of multiple voices filled the building, becoming louder as we walked towards the back of the house, their voices floating through the rooms on the warm early evening breeze.

Tim eventually pulled us to a stop at the end of the hallway, large glass doors to the side of us, “you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, lead the way!”

As we left the villa and stepped into the vast and luscious garden my breath was taken away at the sight before me. The lawn seemed to stretch on forever, a treeline vaguely visible at the back of the property. To my right was a stone pool with wooden chairs placed around the edges, and to the left was a large patio that held the source of the laughter I heard when I first arrived. There sat a large metal garden table with far too many chairs of various shapes, colours and sizes all crammed together, some occupied and some empty. Next to the table was a large circular fire pit made of large innate stone slabs, the fire within flickering away in the evening breeze. 

Passionate and excitable conversations, in what sounded like multiple languages, filled my ears. The hand on the bottom of my back exuding a little more pressure than before, as if he understood just how overwhelming the sight, and sounds, would be to an outsider. The conversations slowly drew to a close as those seated at the table noticed our presence, friendly smiles on their faces as they all looked the newcomer over.

Luca raised from his chair and introduced himself to me first, his partner Fernando following suit. After that it was an onslaught of names and accents, most of which I couldn’t place and most definitely couldn’t remember. There were over 15 guests sitting around the table, some who had worked with Luca in some capacity or other, and the rest were friends from his youth or locals he had met from his many years living in Crema. Tim seemed familiar with them all, reminding me again that he once called this place home, even if it was only for a short while. 

After I had been introduced to everyone, repeating myself numerous times; “no I don’t work with Timothée”, “I’m just here visiting”, “I only speak a little”, and “yes, it is beautiful here”, I finally took a seat at the table. Tim had disappeared back into the house, taking my offering into the kitchen to be chilled and promising to return with a drink for us both. 

I tried to keep up with the many conversations that were occurring around me, they were all effortlessly shifting from English, most likely for my benefit, to Italian with the odd, from what I could gather, word or two in French. There was an uncomplicated elegance to their interactions, as if they have all known one another a number of lifetimes and have curated their own form of communication native to only them. And while I could understand the gist of some of what they were saying, I chose to simply sit back and breathe it all in, bathe in the atmosphere that was alive with pure affection and fondness.

Tim returned after a couple minutes, two glasses of chilled frizzante in his hands, the condensation dripping down the stem of the glass as he placed them down on the table in front of me. A relaxed smile taking over his features as he fell into the chair at my side. His arm came to rest along the back of my chair, the hairs along the back of my neck raised at the small gesture.

“You good?”

“I’m good,” smiling reassuringly at him.

The evening passed by in a delicious haze. Plate after plate appeared before us on the table, when one was removed another quickly came in its place, an array of traditional dishes, each as delectable as the last. Just as the food kept being served, the wine kept flowing, bottle after bottle being opened and placed on the table. The laughter and healthy jibbing of the group around me only got louder as the hours passed. Tim remained at my side the entire evening as he translated the conversation, as best he could, though there were times when even he was just as clueless as I as to what was going on around us. At moments like those we drifted off into our own world, the hustle and bustle of our surroundings seeming to melt into obscurity, until one of our names was called and we were once again plunged back into the world around us.

As the wine flowed throughout the night the easy physicality of our first meeting returned. His arm that rested innocently atop the back of my chair slowly started to drift, his fingers softly playing with the hair at the nape of my neck, so softly it was almost as if it was a subconscious action. While after the numerous plates of food had stopped arriving, my hand found itself resting atop his knee drawing light circles on his jean clad thigh, laughing along with those around us while not quite aware as to what was the cause. Laughter and light languid touches being the theme of the evening.

The rest of the night carried on much the same, until one by one guests began taking their leave, taxi after taxi arriving and departing from the gravel driveway until it was just Luca and Fernando, and Tim and I around the table. The former had enveloped us into an intense debate over the benefits of analogue cameras over their digital counterpart, a topic on which I had little to no standing so excused myself from the table, asking for directions to the restroom, leaving the discussion to continue without me. I had not noticed the evening chill settling upon us while sitting at the table, the warmth from Timothee’s arm distracting me from the now unmistakable coolness in the air.

Making my way back along the corridors that led to the table I heard my name uttered in hushed tones and drew to a stop.

“She’s lovely Timmy, molto belle” I heard Fernando praise.

Luca chiming in with, “Sì, I understand now.”

Startled by the words I heard, and the ambiguous meaning behind them I lingered inside a moment longer before the bustling behind me as one of the chefs noticed my hovering and I headed back to the table. Upon noticing my return Tim shot Luca a look, of what I am not quite sure, warning possibly, chastising maybe, and sat up in his chair, his arm still resting along my chair as if it was awaiting my return. 

Sliding back into my seat I reach forward for my glass, taking a sip and continuing to play with the stem instead of returning my hand to Tim’s lap. Luca’s words reverberating around my head. What could he possibly understand? Tim seemed to have noticed this and shot me a quizzical glance, as if to ask if I was okay. I in return sent him a simple smile back hoping to shield him from the thoughts going a mile a minute around my head. His hand once again rested against the base of my neck, lazily brushing his fingertips against my chilled skin.

“Well-” Luca spoke suddenly, placing his hands atop the table glancing across at his other half lovingly, “I think it was time we called it a night, we are not as young as we used to be il mio amore”.

“Oh, I should be going then” startled, not wanting to overstay my welcome, “thank you for having me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous tesoro, there is wine still to be drunk” smiling as they both rose from their seats. “Sei giovane solo una volta, enjoy yourselves”

They turned to walk towards the house before Luca turned back with a cheeky smile on his face and called out to us, “tesoro, if you’re going to stay out here at least grab la bella donna a blanket, sì?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

As he wandered back inside the villa I stood up from the table, walking slowly around the lawn, hedges and flowerbeds were dotted artfully around the garden, admiring them all as I ran my fingertips along the tallest of the flowers. Tim returned not long after with a large soft looking blanket hanging in one arm and a fresh bottle of wine in the other. A dazed and relaxed smile spread across his face as he scanned the patio until his eyes finally settled upon mine. 

On his way past he swiped our now empty glasses from the table tucking them into his hold before placing them on the grass between our feet. Draping the blanket, that was even softer to the touch, across my shoulders before he reached down and filled our glasses up and gestured for us to sit down on the grass. Our legs stretched out in front of us, thighs pressed so tight against one another I could feel the warmth of his skin through the denim of his trousers.

“Thank you for inviting me Timothée.”

“Thank you for coming Freya.”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?” turning my head and looking at him, baffled at the insinuation. 

“I mean,” reaching his hand up to rub the back of his neck, seemingly on edge for the first time this evening, he slowly turned to look me in the eye, “kind of, yeah.”

At that I couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, the very idea that anyone would pass up spending time with someone as wonderful as Timothée is beyond comprehension.

“Why?”

I felt him begin to shake at my side, not sure if it was due to the sudden change in topic or the evening breeze, I unfurled the comforter from my shoulders and stretched it out over his, leaving us both sitting there wrapped up in one another in every sense of the word. So close that I could feel his every breath settle along my skin.

“Doing what I do, it’s not easy-” closing his eyes while gesticulating his arms out in front of him, “it tends to complicate things.”

Looking at him in silence for a moment, I couldn’t comprehend how someone who for all intensive purposes presents himself as confident and full of life could doubt his own appeal so much. 

“You’re not what you do Timothée.”

The look in his eye catches me off guard. He is such an open book when it comes to his emotions, every individual flicker of emotion is visible for anyone to see. But this time, I can’t quite place what I can see. His eyes, alight with confusion, or maybe elation, but definitely surprise. A heart stopping smile, starting small and somewhat stunned before it grows and lights up the space between us.

“Thank you” he all but whispered, lifting the hand that previously rested on his lap to gently cradle the side of my face.

“For?”

“Seeing me, for me, I guess-”

His bright eyes flickered ever so briefly down to my lips before once again returning my gaze, while his thumb tentatively ran against the underside of my jaw. Every hair on my body standing on end in anticipation. The close proximity between us allowing me to take in every minute detail of his face, from the light dusting of freckles along the ridge of his nose that is only made more obvious by the slight sunburn on the very tip of his nose, to the flicker of gold shining through the green of his eyes. Mine fluttering shut as his face inched towards my own, his breath blowing lightly across my lips as they fell slightly open, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding in as he drew closer.

Our lips met with a sense of familiarity, like two lost souls who have spent an age longing for one another, when in reality it had only been a matter of days. Within seconds we began moving as one as we both sunk into our embrace. His other hand raised to rest on the back of my neck, softly pulling my face closer to his, as mine slid up his chest to pause on his shoulders.

Tilting his head slightly Tim deepened the kiss, and suddenly he was simultaneously everything and everywhere. Enveloped in his embrace he was my every sense. All I could see as my eyes fluttered open was his delicate eyelashes fanning across his skin. All I could hear was the blood pounding through my veins as I lost myself in his hold. All I could feel was the softness of his shirt against my palms, the slightly chapped and yet completely sultry lips pressed firmly against my own, and the firm and yet soft hold of his hands upon my face. All I could smell was the tantalising mixture between expensive aftershave and the natural aroma of a day spent under the Italian sun. All I could taste was him, and the faintest hint of zest from the wine we had since completely disregarded.

It was all him. Everything was him. It was all unequivocally, and unmistakably Timothée. 

All thoughts outside of our embrace washed away the longer the kiss entailed. Occasionally pulling away for a second or two to catch our breaths, a hearty chuckle from deep within our chests saw our lips meet once again. The entire world faded away into obscurity as the only thing in that moment that mattered to me was the face I now cradled between my hands.

The blanket had long fallen from our shoulders, disregarded as if it could offer no warmth that we couldn’t find in one another. It wasn’t until a breeze passed over both of us that our lips parted for the final time as we disentangled our limbs, still clutching loosely onto one another. 

A nervous laugh bubbled within me, my head fell forward, my forehead coming to rest on his shoulder. The hand that was previously desperately holding onto the back of my neck now running it’s fingers softly through my hair.

Evidently confused he asks, “what-?”

“Is that how all Americans say thank you?” Unable to keep the laughter in anymore it bursts out of me as I pull back and shoot him a small smirk.

I’m not sure if the colour on his cheeks is from our previous activities, or due to the chill in the air, but the intensity of rouge painted across his face and neck only intensified at my playful jibing. 

“Only when we really mean it” he rolls his eyes, looking away as if to shield his face from me. 

Reaching forward tentatively, I place my palm against his face directing his gaze back to mine. Dancing my fingers lightly along the seam of his lips, his mouth dropping open ever so slightly as air rushes out of them and across my own. I pushed myself forward, placing a chaste kiss upon his lips before pulling back and settling into his side once again, this time with his arm around my shoulder as he pulled the forgotten comforter up to envelope us in its warmth, my hands coming to rest lightly on his thigh.

“I should probably go.”

“Yeah?” turning his head to press a soft kiss to my forehead before continuing, “I can call you a taxi if you want?”

Walking back through the house felt like shattering a delicate piece of stained glass window. A pane of glass that we had artfully designed and concocted with our very own hands underneath an endless nights sky. Nothing but the cicadas below and the stars above to bear witness to our creation. Broken pieces of metaphorical glass lay at our feet, crunching along with the gravel of the driveway as we walked towards the car, a warm hand once again resting lightly on my lower back. Opening the rear door for me Tim leaned his head down pressing his lips to mine in a brief and hesitant embrace, as if he too could feel the delicate shards below us.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” he rushed out as we parted, words spoken so fast that they overlap and intertwine in the air between us.

“No-“

“Okay,” the smile spreading across his face was as bright as the stars shining above us.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay” his smile transforming into a cheeky smirk, “because I want to take you out, properly, like a date.”

“Like a date, or a date?”

“A date.” 

I couldn’t reign in the overwhelming warmth that was spreading through my chest that translated to the burning sensation along my neck, “okay.”

“Okay?” His smirk growing ever so slightly.

Chuckling softly at the excited yet bewildered look in his eyes I turn to settle in the taxi, “goodnight Timothée.”

As we make our way down the driveway, I turn and see Tim shaking his head out of the rear window, curls that were once artfully arranged now swaying with the sudden movements. My head, and my heart, reached dizzying heights as I reached for my phone and opened the notes app, mind a fog with lyrics as I relive the evening with the Italian countryside flashing past my window.

_ Hey, it's seventy-two degrees, _

_ Zero chance of rain, _

_ It's been a perfect day, _

_ We're all spinning on our heels, _

_ So far away from real. _

_ We watched the sunset from the porch, _

_ We all took it in, _

_ And by the time that it was dark, _

_ You and me had something, yeah. _

_ And if this is what we've got, _

_ Then what we've got is gold, _

_ We're shining bright and I want you, _

_ I want you to know. _

_ The morning's on it's way, _

_ Our friends all say goodbye, _

_ You blow my mind, you do, _

_ And I don't wanna say goodnight. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the fluffiest piece of writing I have ever created, but I hope you like it all the same, I am slowly but steadily falling in love with Freya and Timothée, I hope you are too! Song credit for this chapter goes to James Blunt and his beautiful song 'Stay the Night'. All lyrics are his, but I have rearranged them ever so slightly!
> 
> You probably noticed, but at the top of this chapter, and all chapters from here on out, I have put the trailer for this fic which I hope you adore as much as I do! The song in the video is 'Northern Italy' by the insanely talented Margaux Beylier who's moving lyrics and beautiful voice inspired me to no end in writing this!
> 
> As always it would mean the world if you could leave kudos this fic, and comment to let me know what you think so far! And please follow or bookmark this fic to get a notification every time I update!
> 
> All the love!


	8. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Paradise’: an ideal or idyllic place or state.

[ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0l6HRO8cu4&ab_channel=corxcordium)

“You look happy.”

“I am happy.” 

Every Sunday no matter how busy, or messy, our lives got, my flatmates and I always sat down for breakfast, and just because I had left the country didn’t mean I was let off the hook. Which led me here, lying on my bed with my phone propped up next to me, balcony doors wide open blowing a subtle breeze through the room and the smell of freshly brewed coffee on the stove enveloping me in soothing warmth. 

“Why do you look so happy?” Olive asked sarcastically, looking to the side at Rach and Jack raising her eyebrows at them, “why does she look so happy?”

“Would you rather I looked miserable?”

“Without us, yes” she quipped.

“Stop being ridiculous,” Rach scolded her, always the voice of reason while the rest of us acted like the children at her school. “You do look happy though Frey.”

“Any reason in particular?” Jack finally spoke after sitting silently so far this morning, just like he does any other weekend letting the three of us girls offload before indulging us.

“You’d look this happy if you woke up to this view every day,” I tell them, getting up and turning the camera around to give them a glimpse at the piazza and streets coming to life below. 

“Okay, no need to rub it in,” Olive quipped, doing the same and showing me a typical gloomy and grey morning, the rain seemingly endless as it falls across the city I call home. 

Returning to sit on the bed, they spent the next twenty minutes filling me in on the happenings back home. On the ridiculous, albeit cute, mishaps that Olives students had gotten up to since I left. They told me about Olive’s open mic night performances the night before, of how they stayed out drinking shots until the early hours when they finally stumbled home, and of how they fell over the ever grumpy Winston who sat impatiently waiting for them at the door like he was their parents and them teenagers breaking curfew. They also told me about Jack’s failed date during the week with someone from his office, yet another botched experience in love that he will no doubt bring out at all social engagements for the next month, or at least until the next one. 

I wasn’t intentionally lying to them when I told them about my days since arriving in Crema, just merely avoiding the truth. In truth, I didn’t really know where I stood with Tim yet, we still haven’t even had our first real ‘date’ yet. Maybe after that I tell them more, but for now vaguely mentioning a ‘mystery man’ would have to do.

“So that’s why you’re so happy, you’ve met a man,” Olive rolls her eyes at me, I can almost feel the strain it must have caused her myself.

“I mean, no- not wholly.” Olive and Jack repeat me, mimicking my accent and exaggeratedly wobbling their heads from side to side mocking me. 

“So, uh- how’s the writing going Freya?” Bless Rach, always the kindness amongst the playful teasing of the other two.

“Good, I mean I’m still not really finishing songs, but I’m writing something at least,” I sigh, hoping that the other two will cease their taunting. 

“That’s really good!” Jack exclaimed, “maybe all you needed was to disappear for a while.”

“Or…” I could already sense Olive’s next statement, my eyes rolling before he even spoke his next words, “maybe all she needed was a new man!” 

“It’s not like that guys, honestly.”

“Why not?” she smirked, “you’re on holiday and you’re young Freya, stop being so serious, just let go and just have fun!”

Trying to reign in the conversation seemed a more tenuous task than I was willing to undertake so I simply sat back and let them carry on making endless jibes and suggestions for just how I could “relax”. It seemed to go on forever, but was probably only minutes before the sound of a notification rang through drawing my eyes back to the screen.

_Timothée: hey, still free today?_

“What just happened?” Jack’s voice shone through the phone.

“What?” 

“Something just happened,” my attempt at deflection appearing redundant. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Is it the mystery man? Did he just booty call you?” Olive all but shouted, incapable of holding back it seems, the heat on my cheeks reaching an all time high, “oh God, it was, wasn’t it!”

“No, well, yes it was him, but no, not like that-” I stumble to get out, “we just have plans today,” I tell them before minimising our call and opening up Tim’s message to reply. 

_Freya: yes, what’ve you in mind?_

“What kind of plans?” Rach inquires sweetly.

“I actually have no idea,” I tell them, opening my messages fully and minimising the video call to avoid further embarrassment by letting them see the giddy smile on my face as I see him already typing out a reply. “He knows the area better than me.”

“Let me get this right. You’re going out with a strange man, in a strange country, and you have no idea where he’s taking you?” well, when she put it like that.

“He’s not strange, and I trust him, I guess.”

“You’ve known the man for ten minutes Freya!” The other two joined in with Rach at that point, but as another text came through I did my best to block them out, their panicked tones resonating around the room, even if I heard no actual words.

_Timothée: be ready for 2pm x_

_Timothée: and bring your journal!_

Staring at my phone for a while, trying to decipher his second message I heard my name being called, breaking through the static that filled my ears at the prospect of our date.

“Earth to Freya!”

“Yes, yes sorry-” I quickly sent Tim a simple message letting him know I’d be ready and opened up the call again, “what did you say sorry?”

“You didn’t listen to a word we said, did you?”

“Uh-no, no I didn’t, sorry,” trying my best to look less sheepish. “What did you say?”

“Are you sure you should be going on this date?”

“Yes.” I tell them firmly. I know that their unfriendliness towards the situation is of my own creation, perhaps I shouldn’t have downplayed the situation quite this much, “he’s a good man, I’ll be fine, promise.”

“Where’s he taking you then?” Rach asks softly, once again trying to keep the peace.

“I don’t know,” I admit, “he just told me to pack my journal.”

“That’s an odd request” Jack chimes in. 

“Is he odd?” Olive joins.

“No, he’s-” I chuckle lightly to myself, “he’s lovely, not odd at all, I promise. He probably just wants to help me with my writing.”

“He’s a writer?”

“No, he’s not.”

“So how is he going to help then?” Olive enquiries, always the interrogator.

“Look, guys- I’ve got to get ready. I’ll speak to you later, yes?” I plead with them, “I’ll even text you when I’m home, or something.”

“You best!” shouting down the phone, waggling her finger at the screen.

“Yes, or else we are coming there to get you,” Jack joins in.

“Just make sure you’re safe,” Rach mutters.

“I will, I’ll talk to you all later,” lifting my hand up in a small wave before putting the phone down. 

We had been in each others lives now for years, since our first year at university, and had lived together nearly all of that time. We were a family. A crazy, dysfunctional, and unlikely family. But a family nonetheless. They were my people. And I would tell them about Timothée eventually, but, not until I knew what was happening myself. Last night at Luca's it was beautiful, truly beautiful, but I still don’t know what’s going on between us, and maybe nothing is, maybe he will leave soon and then I’ll be left to myself for the rest of my stay. When I know, when I know what it is between us, then I will tell them. I’ll tell them everything, and they will laugh at the ridiculousness of the whole unlikely situation. And hopefully, by then, after it’s all, whatever it is, is over I will be able to laugh with them. Though deep down I already know that I won’t be laughing. 

*****

A shrill beep sounded on the streets below a few hours after I got off the phone, looking out of the balcony for the source of the sound my eyes quickly landed on it, on him. He was perched on an emerald coloured Vespa, with a simple black rounded helmet atop his head, wild curls escaping to the sides, and another in his hand. Even from up here I could see the wild glint in his eyes, a mixture between mischief and childlike excitement. 

“You coming?” he beamed up at me, a wide smile spread across his face. 

I could do nothing but nod, as if I would ever even consider the opposite. Practically sprinting down the stairs I soon found myself standing on my doorstep, taken aback and shamelessly staring at him. He looked even more stunning up close, and thankfully dressed just as casual as I. Reaching out across the space between us holding out the second helmet, “you ready?”

Still breathless I smiled and nodded again and took a step towards him. He reached out as I near, his hand still clutching the helmet as he raised it to rest on my head before softly clasping the straps underneath my chin and tightening it ever so slightly, the whole time staring straight into my eyes. His hands drift from the strap beneath my chin down to my hands resting at my sides, and with a gentle tug he pulls me onto the bike behind him. As his hands settled back upon the handlebars mine fell to the metal bars to the rear of the seat. Noticing, Tim reached back and grabbed my hands once again, this time placing them around his waist, and with a quick squeeze he kicked up the stand and we were on our way. To where I still did not know. 

The bustling streets of Crema soon disappeared, crowds of people replaced with groves of trees, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that populates the streets replaced with fresh pollen and a warm summery breeze, and the hectic sounds of city life replaced with the quiet hum of the countryside. The only sound I could hear was the purring of the Vespa and the tinkering laughing coming from Tim every time my arms instinctively locked tighter around him as the terrain beneath us became increasingly unpredictable. 

Slowly pulling us to a stop by a thicket of tall trees Tim slides down the stand once again. Removing his helmet, placing it over one handlebar, and brushing his hands through his now flattened, yet still somehow entirely unruly, curls. Turning to me and unclasping the helmet and resting next to his own. 

“Where have you brought me Tim?”

“Just wait,” he beamed back at me, swinging himself off the bike before turning to me and offering a hand. I stare at it for a second, maybe less, maybe more, before placing my own in his warm hold, glancing back up at him and noting the unmistakable joy clear to see across his face. 

Once stood up I straightened out my tea-dress, Tim reached down and opened the bike's storage and emerged with a large rucksack, “-Tim…”

“You trust me, yes?” his eyes are filled with hope and anticipation, and for a second I wonder over how anyone could not.

“Yes-” I whispered, equal parts confirmation and question. 

Just like before, he held out his hand to me, this time I weave my fingers through his own and squeeze tightly before relaxing into his slight embrace. Tim started leading us down a winding dirt path through the trees to our left, the ground beneath us sloping down ever so slightly. Tree’s framed the makeshift pathway, arching overhead like a floral tunnel, the midday sun’s rays still managing to shine through the canopy and bathe us in its comforting heat. 

We were walking in a comfortable silence for five minutes before I finally caved in and spoke again, “Timothée-” but was quickly cut off.

“Just wait,” still beaming down at me, “you’ll see,” and only seconds later I did. 

As the trees around us began to thin and dissipate, a small grassy opening became visible ahead of us, and at the other side of this stretch of green was a large body of glistening water. The treeline cutting so close to the water’s edge you could see the stretch of ancient roots in the shallow of the water. The space around us was silent but for the sounds of the birds overhead, the movement of the water, and the stunned gasp that left my lips as I took in the beauty that surrounded me. 

“Wow.”

“I know right,” giving my hand a quick squeeze. 

“What is this place Tim?”

“I, uh-” he hesitates, his voice growing deeper as he leads us towards the waters edge, “I found it before we started filming that summer, I was feeling really overwhelmed one day so I just got on my bike and kept peddling, and eventually I ended up here. And, I guess I kept coming here whenever the whole thing got too much and I needed to remember why I was here, to find my head again. Or my inspiration, I guess.”

Stunned at him sharing something so personal, I tilted my head to look up at him, “so that’s why you said to bring my journal?”

“I thought it might help you too…” a nervous smile darts across his face, vulnerability clear to see.

Looking around at the quiet nirvana he had brought me to, I had never seen a place of such serene beauty, “you’ve no idea.”

Pulling us to a stop in front of the pond's edge, Tim dropped the rucksack from his shoulder down between our feet, softly sliding his hand from my grip as he crouched down and removed a woven blanket from its confines, laying it out before us. Once again looking up at me, a challenging glint in his eye as he gestures to the space at his side, “are you going to sit down, or stand there staring all day Freya?”

Blushing, I kicked off my shoes and set them aside before settling down onto the blanket, the very same one that was wrapped around us both the night before. Running my hand atop the blanket, I look back up and see a wistful smile shining back at me. 

“I bought us lunch,” he told me, reaching back into his bag, “I hope you’re hungry.”

And boy did he. Pulling out container after container, around us lay a feast for the senses. He told me that Luca’s chefs always made too much, which is an incredible feat when you consider the number of guests he hosts. As well as the food he also brought out a small bottle of white wine, stating “one glass won’t hurt,” before emptying the contents into two steel outdoor cups, passing one to me before raising his own between us.

“What’re we toasting to?”

Looking at me for just a second, before turning his gaze to our surroundings and throwing his arm out to the side, “to inspiration,” turning his gaze back to mine. Raising my glass to his while maintaining his eye contact before taking a tentative sip, my eyes shutting in pure bliss, at both the wine, the company and at our own slice of paradise. 

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome,” he exhaled, “so, have I redeemed myself?”

“What?” I pondered confused.

“As your tour guide,” smirking as he passes me yet another container filled with delicious food, “after leaving you to fend for yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” rolling my eyes at his helpless teasing. “And yes, you have.”

The next hour continued much the same. Helpless jibing towards one another as we shared the collection of dishes laid out around us before both relaxing into the blanket, lying side by side. His fingers softly playing with my own, pulling our hands to rest entwined upon his chest.

“Do you have somewhere like this, back home I mean?”

“I guess, but not half as beautiful,” I told him, thinking back to the countryside of my youth, the endless fields and pastures that surround my childhood town, “do you?”

“I used to. But, uh- it’s kind of difficult now, back home especially,” he tells me while tracing lines on my open palm, “but I try to find somewhere everywhere I go for work, a little piece of quiet, you know?”

I didn’t, not really, and I don’t think I ever would. But I still nodded, glancing over at him, his eyes drawn shut, hair fanning around him on the blanket, and a slight smile tugging at the corner of his rouged lips. Following suit I too closed my eyes, entirely losing myself in the tranquillity of the moment.

“Do you fancy a swim?”

“What?” my eyes shooting open to see a mischievous smile shining back at me as he propped himself up on his elbow. 

“A swim. Do you want to go for a swim?”

“I didn’t know, I’ve not, I can’t just-” panicking slightly.

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go in like this,” noticing my panic and sitting upright, pulling me with him, “or we don’t have to go in at all, that’s okay too.”

“No- I think, no, that’d be nice,” stumbling over my words at the prospect of seeing his sun kissed skin coated in tiny droplets of water, the image alone reason enough. 

“Okay,” a smile on his face again, “that’s, okay.” 

He made the first move. Releasing my hand from his grip and standing above me, reaching behind his neck and pulling his shirt over his head and placing it on top of the open rucksack. Following his lead I too rose, and as he began unbuttoning his shorts and lying them atop his shirt I tentatively untied the bow at my waist and unwrapped the dress from around my body. Quickly replacing the material with my own arms, in a futile attempt at shielding myself from his view. Sensing my unease at standing there under his gaze, he reached out a hand to me and turned on his heel leading us into the water. 

As the cold water lapped at our toes I pulled to a stop, enjoying the feeling of the sand and pebbles below my feet as Tim walked further into the water, “I promise it’s warmer when you’re in it properly.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” watching him slowly submerge his legs, and then his torso in the water before swimming towards the centre of the natural pool. Silently ogling him as I stood on the shoreline for a moment or two, in this moment he looked more relaxed and at peace than I had ever seen him. And that thought alone surged me forward, into the waters and towards him, the beauty around us paling in comparison to the blissed expression on his face. And he was right, of course, the water did warm, with every step and stroke closer to him in the centre of the stream. 

As I swam closer, he reached out towards me and pulled me tight into his chest, laughter bubbling out of us both, evaporating into the ether. Our bodies effortlessly collide under the water, my arms rising to rest around his shoulders and his around my waist as our legs rhythmically move through the water keeping us afloat. 

“Are you glad you came?”

“Glad?” entirely bewildered, “yes, very.” 

Slipping my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, the weight of the water flattening his curls against his forehead. His hands stayed on my hips, clutching me ever so slightly tighter to him, I in turn leant forward, resting my head against his, his damp curls leaving light droplets of cool water in their wake. With both of us breathing heavily, in a mixture of exertion and anticipation, our breath mingled between us. No longer only mine. No longer only his. But entirely ours.

Simultaneously we both leant forward bringing our lips together. What started out as a tender and hesitant kiss soon transformed into a more heated embrace than we had shared since the night we met. Be it the relaxed physicality we created last night at Luca’s, or maybe just the breath-taking anonymity that being in the middle of the water provided, but neither of us restrained ourselves. My hands took a firmer grip in his hair as he slowly slid his up my torso to cup my face, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. I was entirely lost in the moment, the water rippling around us, lapping at our necks as we moved together through the water, until he began trailing his lips across my cheeks to a sensitive spot just below my jaw. My head dropped backwards, he hesitated for a second before placing a lingering kiss that sent a shiver down my spine and made the return journey back to my lips.

Pressed against him, here in what felt like our own private slice of the Italian countryside felt too good to be true, a dream almost. If not for the tangible sensation of his body pressed against mine, the heat of the sun shining down on us, the slow rise of the hairs along my back as his grip tightened just the right amount, I may have believed it was a dream.

Pulling back and detaching my lips from his, I tilted my head slightly to look up into his eyes, eyes that seem even more vibrant than usual as the sun reflects on the water around us. Untangling my legs from around his waist but keeping my arms joined around his neck as we float in the middle of the lake, the blissful smile on his face no doubt is reflected on my own. Gazing at him, here, in this beautiful place, a place that means so much to him, and now to me, words swirled around my head. Words I couldn’t keep in any longer.

“M’going to go sit out for a sec.”

“Oh, uh-” his brows furrowed in confusion at the turn of events, “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” sliding my hands down from his neck to rest on his chest firmly. “You stay here, I’m just- I’ll be right back, okay?”

With a confirming nod from Tim I finally separated our bodies fully, an overwhelming chill settled in my bones at the lack of contact as I turned to swim back towards the shoreline. Ignoring the tinge of self consciousness that rears its unwanted head in the back of my mind I quickly settled down onto the long forgotten blanket. Remnants of lunch and our clothes lay around me as I relaxed atop the blanket and pulled out my journal and began to write.

_Take my hand,_

_And we can go walking,_

_And we can talk about whatever is on your mind,_

_Be my friend, but secretly like me,_

_I wanna catch you staring and make you go all red._

Glancing back up briefly my eyes instantly land on the spans of his back, coated in water droplets he looks almost incandescent, his hair starting to spring back into its uncontrollable ringlets, spilling lightly down his elegant neck. 

_I love the way your hair falls in the summer,_

_It’s like I’m seeing the whole world in colour,_

_And I’m kinda scared it’ll be over,_

_Oh no._

_You’re all that I’m needing,_

_You’re all that I’m feeling,_

_And I’ll be the one that’s kicking and screaming,_

_When I have to go home,_

_Oh yeah._

In moments as blissful as this it’s easy to forget that this isn’t real, not really. My life here, as heartbreakingly beautiful as it is, is fleeting. That thought alone is enough to send a shiver down my spine, and not a pleasant one.

_My feet in the sand,_

_And yours in the water,_

_We can explore these hills if that’s what you want to do,_

_You know I can’t stand, when it gets cold in the evenings,_

_But with your arms wrapped around me, I think I’ll change my mind._

Thinking back to earlier, wrapped within his warm embrace. I would stay there forever, if such a wish could ever be granted. In that exact moment, I think, floating away in his arms sounds like heaven.

_You play with my hair like there’s no other,_

_It’s like I’m seeing the world in colour,_

_And I’m kinda scared it’ll be over,_

_Oh no._

_We’ll get in loads of trouble,_

_Give out love on the double,_

_We can get drunk and,_

_Our words can get muddled,_

_No cigarette smoke will burst our little bubble,_

_Oh no._

_Take my hand,_

_And we can go walking,_

_And we can talk about whatever is on your mind._

It feels like a dream, and I can see it. I can see an endless summer filled with languid touches and heated embraces under the eternal summer sun, heaven. But it is just that, isn’t it, a dream.

_You play with my hair like there’s no other,_

_It’s like I’m seeing the whole world in colour,_

_And I’m kinda scared for when it’ll be over,_

_Oh no._

_You’re all that I needed,_

_You’re all that I’m feeling,_

_And I’ll be the one who’s kicking and screaming,_

_When I have to go home._

Overwhelmed. That’s how I would describe this feeling. An overwhelming sense of pre-emptive loss, as if I am mourning something that has yet to come to pass. And while our eventual parting may be set in stone, there is no logical reason not to bathe in the joy of the right here, right now.

_We’ll get in loads of trouble,_

_Give out love on the double,_

_We can get drunk and,_

_Our words can get muddled,_

_No cigarette smoke will burst our little bubble._

_Take my hand,_

_And we can go walking,_

_And we will talk about whatever is on your mind._

“So, did it work?” Startled, I turned and looked towards the sound of his voice and found Timothée settled on the blanket next to me, water droplets slowly soaking into his skin as he rested on his side facing me, arm propping his head up as his eyes flicker to the open page before me.

“Did what work?” a shudder overcomes my entire body as he raises a hand to run along my spin, the light trail of his skin upon mine alighting a fire deep within me.

“This place?”

He had no idea. While the lake is one of the most beautiful places I had ever visited, it was merely an added bonus. He had no idea. No idea that it was in fact him that inspired me, not only in Italy. It was all him. And he didn’t even know it. 

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Can I see what you wrote?” a brief look of panic on my face must have been clear to see as he began backtracking, “or not, that’s okay too.”

“Not yet?” I offer, knowing that more days like this will soon break my resolve.

“That’s okay,” running his hand up to rest lightly on the black of my neck, brushing his fingers through my hair as if he could already sense the words along the pages, “I know you’ll show me, one day.”

One day. 

And just like that, any concern I had for an impending end vanished, into thin air, into the very air that surrounded us. Floating away on the warm evening breeze. There was nothing, nothing but right here, and the possibility of something, anything. But there was just that, a possibility. 

One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for baring with me and sticking with this fic when I disappear! The song in this chapter is 'Take My Hand' by Picture This with very few alterations to the lyrics. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of the story so far and drop a kudos if you so wish, also don't forget to bookmark to get notifications when I update! 
> 
> All the love.


	9. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Gratitude': the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Translations:
> 
> Sì, una bottiglia di vino al bianco, grazie - Yes, a bottle of white wine, please  
> Ciao cara - Hi dear   
> Buenosera - Goodevening  
> La bella donna - The beautiful woman  
> Chi è questo - Who is this?  
> È il destino - It is destiny   
> Mi cara - My dear

He asked me on another date. Before we even left the berm. 

After talking for a short while longer about the lyrics I had just written, albeit vaguely, we settled into a comfortable silence. Timothée eventually fell back and rested at my side on the blanket, him on his back, and me on my front. We had still yet to redress, so instead both relaxed into the blanket in our rapidly drying underwear, the sun just about high enough to prevent too much of a chill. With one arm bent and tucked beneath his head and the other resting along the small of my back, his fingers softly skimmed across my skin leaving goose bumps in their wake. I laid my head on my folded arms, tilting in Tim’s direction. His eyes remained closed, facing the sky above us while mine stayed trained on him. 

Taking advantage of his unawares I simply gazed at him, drinking in every little detail and nuance of his alarmingly handsome face. From his effervescent skin, glowing under the midday Italian sunshine, to his full brows that were ever so slightly furrowed as the skin resting between them pinched. The wild curls covering the grass below him resting in a halo-esc ring, if not for the manic twists and turns that left his chiselled jawline on full display. His slightly swollen lips lay parted as he rhythmically breathed in and out heavily, so softly as if he was so relaxed he was drifting off to sleep. And I would have believed that, if not for the continuous and tortuous trailing of his hand along my back. I was like a lost man in the desert finally stumbling upon his oasis. Drinking in and revealing in the beauty around me.

“Freya?” he whispered, eyes still closed, shaking me from my peaceful revere.

“Mhmm,” I sounded, rapidly closing my eyes in an attempt to prevent being caught out.

“Would you like to do something again tomorrow?”

Eyes shooting open once again only to notice that he had sat up, resting on his side once again, and leaning in closer to me. His hand rising higher along my spine until settling at the base of my neck, nestling in my hair, threading it through his fingers.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” chuckling heartily, “okay’s good,” we settled back into silence again after that. Basking in what was left of the slow setting sun while we could. 

Eventually as a breeze blew through the trees and a shiver overcame the both of us urging us to put on our long forgotten clothes. Averting my eyes as best as possible, as if we hadn’t just spent the best part of the afternoon in a relaxed state of undress intertwined in the water. While Tim had stood up to fasten his shorts and pull his shirt back over his head, messing his hair up even more, I remained upon the blanket as I wrapped my dress back around myself and tied it securely at the side. Looking up at him finally to see he was already gazing down at me, a blissful smile on his face as he held his hand out to me.

“Dance with me Freya.”

“What?”

“Dance with me.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” 

A million reasons floated around my mind, for a start the one glass of wine we had shared earlier was not nearly enough for the Dutch courage I required at this moment. Let alone the fact that there was no music playing. But all of that faded away the longer I looked at him, drifting from his eyes to his hand extended towards me.

“Okay,” lightly placing my hand in his, letting him pull me to my feet and stand in front of him, my other hand lying awkwardly at my side. 

“Give me a second, yeah?” he stated, keeping my one hand firmly within his hold as he reached down for his phone. Opening up Apple Music he pressed shuffle and threw his phone down by our feet, the distinctly soothing and entirely recognisable synths of Sujfan Stevens’ ‘Run Away With Me’ rang out around us. 

The song swept away any lingering hesitancy as, like he did the night we met, Tim raised my hand in his hold to place it around his shoulders, my other following suit as he rested his own on my waist. Pulling me ever so slightly closer to him we swayed to the music, my head leant forward forehead resting on his chest with his chin resting atop my head. Soon enough the song faded into another, and then another, songs I did not recognise, and while the tempo of the songs fluctuated our stance did not. We swayed in that empty field surrounded by nothing but trees, water, and the sounds coming from his phone. I had never felt so completely isolated from the rest of the universe, and yet so entirely at home. 

*****

The fabric of my floral midi dress skirted across the skin above my knees as I all but ran down my stairs. Tim had collected me again, though this time sans the Vespa, instead standing below my balcony moving nervously from one foot to the other. His apparent nervousness dissipated as I closed the door behind me. Reaching for my hand as soon as I stepped forward, twining our fingers together while his thumb softly brushed across the back of my hand. 

Leaning in close Tim pressed his lips against my own. One, two, three. The moment seemed to stretch beyond my comprehension of time itself. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since we said goodbye in this very same spot, yet the underlying need within this embrace was unmistakable. With our lips lazily pressing together Tim mumbled a “hi,” against my lips, not separating but a hair’s breadth. I whispered a “hello,” in turn but the sound quickly faded into the night as our lips pressed together fully again. Pulling apart after what must have been minutes we started making our way, having not moved from in front of my door since he arrived.

Lit by only the lamps lining the streets and the blend of pink and orange hues above us as the sun set. Tim led the way, tugging on my hand as we walked along the gullies and side streets with people bustling all around us, with laughter and music filling the air. A laid back and entirely pleasurable aura washed over all of the inhabitants of Crema this evening, as if we were basking in not only the setting sun but the warmth of the people living within its walls.

“Are you not going to ask where I’m taking you this time?”

“What’s the point, you won’t tell me anyway.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he chuckled, shaking his head, hair swaying in front of his eye with the sudden motion. 

He eventually pulled us to a stop outside of a restaurant with light yellow walls and wide open green doors. Aged vines climbed the walls around the door, creating a makeshift archway leading you inside. Outside on the side of the street were tables placed haphazardly upon the cobbles, each of them filled with people, too many conversations to keep up with floating around us while the most delightful aromas engulfed us. The sign above the door in a slightly messy handwritten scrawl read ‘Via Vai Trattoria’. 

“The owner’s a friend of Luca’s,” turning to me as he pulls me towards the steps at the entryway, “it’s the best pasta you’ll find in all of Crema.”

The restaurant was dark, the only source of light coming from the tall pillar candles that adorned the many tables. There seemed to be more tables than there was floor space, every one with people of all ages around them. Both young and old, families, friends, and potential lovers. The sounds of conversations in a variety of languages filled the air around us, while the quiet hum of classical string instruments rang overhead through the speakers placed in the corners of the room. 

Via Vai was bustling with life, the warm and inviting atmosphere palpable as we were led through the room towards our table towards the rear of the restaurant by a waiter, Tim’s hand rested on my lower back the entire time. Reaching around me he pulled my chair from underneath the table, waiting until I had seated before rounding and taking his own seat, his hand trailing lightly across my neck as he made his way. 

“Can I get you both something to drink?”

“Sì, una bottiglia di vino al bianco, grazie,” Tim asked the waiter, not breaking his gaze from mine for a second, a relaxed smile spread wide across his face.

“Grazie,” I all but whispered as the waiter left us.

We sat in silence for a short while, simply smiling across at one another until a foreign voice cut through the air, “Freya?”

Turning my head to the side the source of the voice came into view, “Rose?”

“Ciao cara” her beaming smile lighting up the dim room, “I told you I would see you again cara.”

“Buenosera Rose.”

“Sì, Giorgio this is la bella donna I told you about, remember, from the Duomo?” Rose had turned her attention back on her greying dinner partner, her husband I assumed, briefly before returning her warm gaze back to our table. Her eyes flickering briefly over to Timothée before she spoke again.

“Chi è questo?”

“Right, uh-” looking over to Tim for the first time since Rose spoke my name, noticing the amused glint in his eyes before quickly turning to face Rose once again before a blush rushed to my cheeks. “This is Timothée,” I told her, tilting my head back to Tim before continuing, “and this is Rose, and Giorgio.”

Getting up from his chair and making his way over to the table next to us he kissed Rose on the cheek and shaking Giorgio’s hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you, ciao, it’s lovely to meet you.” 

Taking a step back he shook Giorgio’s hand before returning to our table and placing his left hand on the centre of the table, as if taunting me, silently seeking out my touch. Of which I indulged him, placing my hand delicately atop his, his thumb looping over to trace invisible lines along my skin. 

“Sì, I have heard many things about you,” Rose’s voice draws my gaze away from our joined hands, a knowing and kind smile on her face as she too looks across at our table top. 

“All good, I hope?”

“Ah, now that would be telling young Timothée, no?” Rose, ever the wistful tease. 

While we were sitting on two separate tables, the small space between them and us seemingly vanished as we spent the evening talking to Rose and Giorgio all evening. Sharing stories and getting to know one another, well, the three of us did. As it turned out Giorgio wasn’t a big talker, he preferred to simply nod along and agree with all Rose had to say, which she didn’t seem to mind. She relayed tales of their youth and their meeting, stories that I had heard before when we first met but still listened to avidly as if her wisdom and experiences could seep into my pores from the repetition. Timothée was ever the attentive listener, leaning over the table as Rose shifted the focus of her many tales, hand forever resting upon mine. 

Our tables were shrouded in laughter and joy the entire evening, the rest of the restaurant seemingly fading away. The wine flowed freely, and delicious dishes arrived much the same as the meal at Lucas. A carousel of delectable plates came and went from the table, the majority of which we shared, neither of us able to decide between one dish and the next, entirely overwhelmed by the choice.

As the evening wound down and the restaurant seemingly emptied around, I turned to the neighbouring table and addressed Rose, “It’s so mad that we would end up here on the same night, isn’t it?”

“Ah cara, what did I tell you? È il destino,” an omniscient smile upon her face as both she and Giorgio took to their feet readying to leave. “It was lovely to see you again mia cara, and you Timothée. We hope to see more of you both while you’re in Crema, don’t we Giorgio?” 

With a slightly bemused look on his face he manages to mumble out a simple “sì,” much to Rose’s dismay. It seems that he truly is a man of very few words, which seems like an oddly perfect fit with Rose’s outgoing and motherly personality. Which made me wonder, did we seem like an odd fit? To anyone that knew Tim, knew what he did, we must. But I like to think that those who didn’t know him looked upon us and just saw a young couple, a possible budding romance. Saw what I felt, what I hoped he felt, which was a strong connection.

Giorgio led Rose out of the restaurant with a final wave to us, and my attention instantly returned to the man opposite me, solely focused on him for the first time since we had sat at the table. While I enjoyed Rose’s company, and even Giorgio’s, it suddenly dawned on me that this was supposed to be our first ‘real’ date. Suddenly overwhelmed with an anxious feeling of maybe I had ruined the date. Had I spoken to Rose too much? Had I ignored him too much? Or, god forbid, had I treated this like just friends sharing a meal, like I had wrongly done so many times before? But as I looked at him, really looked at him, I saw nothing but a blissed smile looking back at me. His hand gave mine a light squeeze, before reaching for his glass of wine with his free hand, raising it to his lips.

“I’m sorry, for tonight, it probably wasn’t what you had in mind,” I tell him honestly.

“No, it wasn’t quite,” he chuckles softly, “but I’ve had a great night Freya. She really is a character, no wonder you wanted to replace me with her.”

“Hey, I never said that, you did, and for the record,” I paused slightly, taking a drink from my own glass wondering how honest I should be, “I think I’ll keep you both around, you’ve got your own uses.”

“Uses? Do go on.”

He’s teasing me. I know he is. But knowing that didn’t help me control the blush that highlighted my embarrassment, clear to see across the exposed skin of my cheeks and neck. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“That’d be telling T.”

I didn’t realise I’d said it until I already had, shortening his name further, an option he had not given me days ago when we met and he insisted I not call him by his full name. The blush on my skin only worsened as I waited anxiously for his reaction, of which there was none but a slight smile lifting at the corner of his lips.

“Are you trying to keep me on my toes Freya?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” laughing loudly and entirely unabashedly, “maybe.”

He paid the bill. I tried to fight him on this, pointing out that I was not with him for that, that I was there for his company and was completely able to cover our meal. He shook me off easily with a “you can get it next time” while handing over his card to our waiter, Mattia we learnt by the end of the evening, with a smug smile on his face. Unsure on whether he was smug about winning the argument, or about my not fighting his insinuation of another date. Either way I let him bask in it a short while. 

Upon leaving Via Vai the air outside had significantly cooled. Looking across at me and noticing the exposed skin of my shoulders Timothée dropped my hand from his and wrapped his arm firmly around me. Wearing only a loose fitting shirt himself, we both sought out heat in each other's embrace as we held on tightly to one another walking back through the streets we frequented only hours earlier.

We parted ways on my doorstep, much like we did the night we met. He cradled my face within his hands, holding on tight as if he was afraid I would slip through his very fingers. Mine toying with the hem of his shirt at his waist lightly, as he placed soft kisses across my jaw, and down my neck, leaving hot open mouth kisses where my neck meets my shoulder. Shifting my hands up the centre of his back, threading my fingers through his hair lazily, the curls normally present had since dropped slightly with the warm air in the restaurant. Tugging on his hair gently pulling his face back to mine Tim slowly trailed his lips back across my skin before pressing one final heated kiss to my lips. Pressed together tightly, moving together, breathing deeply between kisses, foreheads pressed tightly together. 

“Thank you, for tonight T,” another kiss.

“S’okay,” another kiss. “Can I see you again then?”

“Yes,” another kiss.

The words flowed out of me as soon as I shut the door to my flat. Reaching for the acoustic guitar that rested long forgotten and out of tune in the corner of the room beside the small sofa, as a simple melody rang through my head. Adjusting the strings and tuning by ear until the sound emanating from the instrument lying in my lap resembled that of Gibson that I had left behind I began to sing softly. 

_ I have seen, seen it all in paper dreams, _

_ Watched it all full on the screen, _

_ But never understood, _

_ I have heard, have heard you speak a million words, _

_ Now you're talking to me first, _

_ Never thought you would. _

The notes came easy, as easy as breathing. My fingers delicately plucking at the dusty strings, chords and lyrics circling around my mind.

_ Oh, my, my, you just took me by surprise, _

_ And I can't believe my eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind, _

_ Oh no, my, you are too good to be all mine, _

_ Now I'm looking in your eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind. _

Nothing but the gentle melody and my soft voice ringing through the darkened room, the only source of light being the street lights below that shone through the balcony doors.

_ I was young, my heart was always on the run, _

_ But you made livin' fun, _

_ I never knew it could be,  _

_ I see you from a different point of view, _

_ Feel it's too good to be true, _

_ I found my missing piece. _

Overwhelmed with gratitude. Gratitude for being here, for writing again, and for meeting Tim. 

_ Oh, my, my, you just took me by surprise, _

_ And I can't believe my eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind, _

_ Oh no, my, you are too good to be all mine, _

_ Now I'm looking in your eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind, _

_ Oh, no. _

My every emotion dripping out of my fingertips, the music filling the room containing my every thought, my every emotion, and my every feeling. 

_ Oh, my, my, _

_ When I look into your eyes, _

_ It's a sight I can't describe, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind. _

My voice once filled with a passionate fire, had begun to simmer into a soft and wistful whisper. 

_ Oh, my, my, you just took me by surprise, _

_ And I can't believe my eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind, _

_ Oh no, my, you are too good to be all mine, _

_ Now I'm looking in your eyes, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind, _

_ Oh, I must be seeing blind. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to friends having a difficult time, and friends chasing their dreams, be that be film editing, or carpentry. 
> 
> Lyrics for this chapter come from 'Seeing Blind' by Niall Horan, with very minimal alterations. I hope you liked this chapter, if so please let me know what you think in the comments. And as always, please kudos and bookmark this fic to get notified whenever I post a new chapter!
> 
> All the love!


	10. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Freedom': the power of self-determination attributed to the will; the quality of being independent of fate or necessity.

There is just something about a warm early morning breeze blowing through the aged cobble laden streets of small European towns. It’s as if the wind itself was imbued with the very history of the thousands upon thousands of souls that have called this place home. Of those who have been temporary residents, and of those who only blown through, much like the air that inspired such thoughts. I could almost hear the ghost of ancient conversations floating around me, collecting me within their warm and protective embrace. 

I decided to start the day by paying a visit to Duomo Caffè. The scent of freshly ground coffee filled the air, so strong that I could smell it in the walls of my temporary home as it drifted in through the balcony doors. It seemed however, that I was not the only resident to have this idea. Inside the café was a hive of activity. Full to the rafters, there were customers at every table and a queue out of the door. And as I stood there, blissfully bathing in the beauty of my surroundings I heard the hint of an accent coming from the person on the phone standing before me. Australian. 

“I know, I can’t wait either… I’ll see you later Geo.”

Call it intrigue. Or just plain nosiness. But I couldn’t help wondering about ‘later’, about this mystery character before me, and more generally about the life that was all around me. 

When I planned this trip I had a dreamlike idea of what this experience would be. I had the childlike notion that I would be able to effortlessly immerse myself within the local culture. That I would find like minded solo travellers embarking on a similar quest for self. I didn’t imagine for a second that I would meet someone so different and so all consuming as I have. Which has been a surprise as pleasant as anyone could ever hope for. But I can’t help feeling somewhat isolated, that my only companions in the whole country are a dashing American, and an elderly couple, one of which I am fairly certain wouldn’t recognise me if he fell over me in the very same cobbled streets. 

My somewhat maudlin musings were cut off sharply by an inquisitive calling from the person that inspired the very train of thought, the Australian, “scusa?”

Glancing up at the source of the voice I saw a remarkably beautiful 20-something woman, with seemingly never ending braids cascading down her slender back, her skin glowing under the already unrelenting morning rays. 

“Yes?”

“Ah, great, you speak English!” A welcoming smile spread across her face as her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I haven’t eaten here before and I can’t decide between the cannoli, polenta e osei, or the parona di offelle-” her strong Australian accent shone through her Italian pronunciation, resulting in a hybrid that was too committed to the former to truly execute the later. 

“Everything is lovely here,” having already sampled all they have to offer during my walking tour with Timothée when I first arrived. “But, I would say the cannoli for sure.”

“Cheers! We only got in yesterday.”

“No worries at all,” I told her, her glowing smile entirely infectious. “You should come back later and try the rest, you won't regret it.”

We continued to talk for the 10-or-so minutes we spent queueing, going on to leave the café together and slowly meander around the Piazza side by side as conversation flowed effortlessly between us. Alesandra, or Ally I later learnt, reminded me a lot of Olive. Carefree, fiery, and more confident than I could ever hope to be. And it wasn’t only in this unmistakable self belief either, but in their endless positivity, and what seemed to be an inconceivable sense of faith that all would indeed be well. 

As we stood leaning against one of the many arches in front of the Duomo she shared stories from her travels, and I in turn shared all that Rose had shown and taught me about Crema. She told me of the multitude of countries and cities she had already visited, and the tens more she had yet to reach. I told her about the many cafes and restaurants that I had already tried, and the many more than I hadn’t yet sampled. She told me about the fellow travellers that she had picked up along the way; George the resident Cremaschi that inspired her visit, Tom from London who she had met in a hostel in Paris the month earlier, and Ellie a friend from her hometown who she was embarking on the trip of a lifetime with. This ragtag team of individuals seemed like an unlikely yet perfect collection of strangers-come-friends. 

“You should come for a drink with us tonight!” She exclaimed after a moment of silence settled between us, our cannoli’s long finished.

“What?”

“Yeah, me and my friends, we’re going out. George is taking us to a club, or as close as you get to a club in Crema. You should come with us!”

“I don’t know-” up until this point I had yet to truly sample the nightlife of Crema, aside from my first night when I danced into the early hours on the cobbled streets of the Piazza, with Tim. But we spent that night alongside families and retirees, the idea of spending a night amongst my own peers intrigued me to say the least.

“What else would you be doing tonight Freya?” Her perfectly shaped eyebrow artfully raised, challenging me with her expression just as much as with her words. 

*****

The club was practically alive. If I thought the café this morning was full I had no idea. There were bodies practically everywhere, everyone moving as one as the music pulsed through the room as the rotating lights shone above our heads. The beats thumping throughout the room came courtesy of a number of local artists whose names I did not recognise. Momà was easily the most modern place I had visited so far in Crema. The small blacked out room reminded me of the venues at home; dark, narrow, and with a floor sticky from years worth of alcohol being spilt by it's drunk patrons. Standing at the rear of the room I could see a bar running along the wall to the left and a spattering of tables along the facing wall, leaving room for the dance floor in between. 

I had chosen to meet Ally and her friends at the club. She had invited me to go out for a drink or two with them beforehand, but I had declined in favour of siking myself up for the evening at home first. Mostly consisting of talking to myself in the mirror and throwing back a couple shots of Grappa, and, for the most part, it worked brilliantly. 

“Freya!” I heard my name chanted across the heaving dancefloor, the distinct Australian accent emanating from the bar. “Ciao, ciao, Freya!” 

Replying seemed redundant as the music picked up once again so I raised a hand in a brief wave as I made my way over to Ally and her friends. I could spot Tom, the fellow Brit, from a mile off. The somewhat awkward stance and look of confusion upon his face was clear to see as both Ally and Ellie danced wildly in front of him, all inhibitions thrown to the wind. At first it appeared to only be the three of them leant against the side of the bar but as I approached as did another, George I assumed, confidently striding over. 

“Ally,” I called out as I neared. My new friend in response held her arms open wide pulling me into a warm embrace, made even warmer by the sticky air within the cramped room. “You made it!” The alcohol already coursing through her veins appearing to make her even more exuberant than earlier this afternoon. Pulling back slightly but leaving one arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder she turned us both to face her friends.

“Everyone,” waving her remaining arm around slightly to capture the attention of her companions, “this is my new friend, Freya. Freya, this is everyone.” One by one everyone introduced themselves to me, and myself in turn, as Ally pushed a glass filled with a bright orange liquid filled to the brim over the bar to me. 

Ellie practically bounced across throwing her arms around me much like her friend and placing a brief kiss upon my cheek as a greeting before spinning around and practically skipping over to the dance floor dragging Ally along with her. Whereas George crooned a quick “ciao” while leaning over to shake my hand briefly, before turning to the bar to order himself a drink.

“Tom,” holding out a hand to me, “Ally told us you’re from the UK?”

“Freya,” I returned his greeting, “and yes, Manchester, you?”

“Ah, London,” he beamed. Looking hesitantly to the dancefloor and his friends, George had already made his way over to the girls. He returned his gaze to me motioning his hand in their direction, “Do you want to join them?” 

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic there,” I chuckled lightly at his reserved expression, “not a big dancer?”

“There’s not enough alcohol in all of Crema to get me dancing like that,” laughing along with me now, shaking his head. 

“We’ll see Tom…” I turned to the side hoping to catch the bartender's eye and ordering two shots, determined to enjoy the evening but still requiring a little more Dutch courage. 

Turning back around to face Tom and holding out a shot to him, I raised my own into the space between us, “to all the alcohol in Crema!” Laughing boisterously he returned my chant, slamming the glasses down onto the bar before we made our way over to join the rest of his friends on the dancefloor.

The dance floor was practically writhing. The entire audience moving as one giant hub of life to the overwhelming beats coming from the speakers overhead. We were quickly swallowed into the masses, drifting deeper and deeper into the crowd. The confident and wild nature of Ally, and Ellie also it seemed, only grew as the night wore on, swirling and twirling wherever the music took them. And as the drinks flowed I was seemingly swept along with them, flailing, much less gracefully, around the floor alongside them.

George was seemingly just as free as the girls as he drifted from our side to those of others within the venue he knew from his youth spent in Crema, and Tom after a number of more shots finally began swaying along with us. Enshrouded within the group as we danced around him, our drinks spilling over our glasses onto the floor below as we continued to uncoordinatedly dance the night away. The bright orange liquid permanently staining the memory of our night together into the very foundations of the venue.

Taking a brief break from the dance floor I stumbled my way to an empty table to the side of the room, sweeping up a glass of water from the bar along my way and leaving the others to drift out of sight into the sea bodies dancing before me.

“Hey- Freya!” Looking up for the source I saw Ally, fighting her way through the crowd and making her way over to my table, “all danced out?”

“Never.” And with a deep breath I was led back into the masses.

As the hours ticked by and the drinks continued to flow the venue slowly emptied, our fellow dancers slowly trickling out onto the streets, and we soon followed them. Our steps landed somewhat clumsily on the cobbled floor from sheer adrenaline more so than the alcohol, arms laced together, and smiles so bright they lit the dark streets before us. Wedged between Ally and Tom, my arms entwined with theirs at my sides, we walked into the night for a number of minutes before I recognised my turning and began to remove myself from their embrace, and in doing so pulled the line to a halt.

“Thanks for a wonderful night guys,” I turned to them all with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, a similar expression present upon all of their faces, including three of George’s friends who had left and joined our procession line.

“Where are you going girl?” Ally practically yelled, her words echoing around us, apparently feeling that the night was not yet over.

“Home?” I replied, sounding more like a question than I originally intended. 

“You can’t walk home on your own, it’s dark, are you insane?” Once again shouting, passers-by tossing brief glances our way. 

Sensing that this would be a battle I could not win I took the only stance I could, and imbued the facts with a small white lie, “I’m a street away, I promise I will be perfectly fine.”

“Freya-” Tom started.

“You guys enjoy the rest of your night, yes? And we will do this again before you leave” I interrupted, already taking backwards steps in my desired direction.

“If you’re sure?” Ellie spoke hesitantly. 

“Hey wait, before you go, give me your phone,” Ally broke free of her friends and reached towards me, hand held out expectantly, “to make those plans, yes.”

With a final assurance of my wellbeing, and a plenitude of farewells I turned and made my way back through the winding side streets, the street lamps softly lighting the way home. It was hard to think of a time where I had ever felt more comfortable, more unapologetically myself, or more free than I did in this very moment. There was a sense of freedom that I had found here in Italy that I don’t believe I had ever experienced before. 

The faint buzzing sound from my phone interrupted my current late night musings. Realising that now I am outside I must have gained signal for the first time since I arrived at Momà hours earlier. Alongside a multitude of notifications coming through from the house group chat, in which someone had lost their keys and someone else had found them in the bathroom cupboard, was an unopened text from a much more enticing sender. 

_ Timothée: heyy what are you up to tonight?  _

Without thought or hesitation instead of replying to his text from hours prior I reached for the top of the screen, pulling up his details and hit call. The seconds it took for him to answer the call felt like hours as I slowly traipsed along the quiet alleyways. My only living companions were other creatures of the night, locals who had evidently spent their night, and most likely the day too, partaking in a drink or two. Stumbling from the curb with little abandon or worry, their laughter filled the night air and soared high, momentarily distracting me. That was, until I heard his muffled voice in my ear.

“Freya?” he mumbled, the question clear in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Timmy!” I all but squealed down the receiver, entirely unable to reign in my excitement, swept away on the joy present in the evening air. “Yes! Yes, everything's great!”

His quiet laughter tinkered down the phone, encircling me within his warmth, “where are you?”

“I went dancing with friends,” sounding almost proud, whether that be of the evening activities or of my new found friendships I’m not sure.

“You’re dancing?” 

“No,” faining exasperation. “I went dancing,” emphasising the tense, shaking my head as if he was standing in front of me. 

“Okay-” no longer attempting to hide his laughter, he was doing a terrible job at masking his amusement as it was clear to even my lightly addled mind. “So what’re you up to now then Freya?”

“I’m walking home.”

“On your own?” Laughter quickly exchanged for a tone of hesitant worry. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine,” making a conscious effort to sound serious, if just for a second, before lightening up once again. “Just keep me company, yeah?”

We spoke on the phone for my entire walk home, and even carried on long after I got back to my flat. Placing the phone on loudspeaker as I entered and stumbled my way around the dark kitchen for a glass of water as Timothée told me about his day, having already divulged everything about my own. 

“It was great, I went with Luca and Ferdinando to visit their family,” he told me candidly before chuckling under his breath, “much quieter compared to your evening it seems.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but I’ll suffer for it tomorrow,” laughing along with him as I made my way over to the bed, collapsing down onto the cool sheets.

“Hanging up your dancing shoes are we?” he teased.

“For now, maybe…”

It was lovely to talk like this with him. Completely at ease. It was so reminiscent of how I felt earlier this evening at Momá, but almost brighter now, a more intense feeling of contentment. A feeling that ought to terrify me. But instead it shone brighter, extinguishing any fear or reservation I may have, or should have, had.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted your night,” I told him softly, the tone of my voice more serious than it had been the whole call. 

“You could never interrupt anything Freya.”

“Can I do it again then?” I asked after I moment’s silence, “interrupt you, I mean.”

“Anytime.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Just tell me when, and where,” I could hear the smile in his voice. It was at this moment I truly hated my decision for an ordinary call and not facetime. 

“Mine? I’ll cook.”

“What should I bring?”

“Just yourself, and maybe some wine?” I laughed. “Oh, and Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“Leave your dancing shoes at home yes? I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up with your twinkle toes,” the effects of the evening's alcohol seemingly not yet worn off completely.

  
“We’ll see about that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely festive season, super sorry it has been so long since I last updated, I will try to do better! 
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think in the comments section, I promise there will be decidedly more Timothée in the coming chapters as things between him and Freya start to... spice up a bit? 
> 
> All the love!


End file.
